


Swords and Pistols

by Penguin_Lord



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Kink Meme, girls having adventures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penguin_Lord/pseuds/Penguin_Lord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: "Constance never gets married to Jacques Bonacieux. Instead, she runs away from home, learns to properly use a sword and a gun, and lives the life of adventure that she's always wanted to..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of an Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> The full prompt is: "Constance never gets married to Jacques Bonacieux. Instead, she runs away from home, learns to properly use a sword and a gun, and lives the life of adventure that she's always wanted to. Of course, she knew that a lady that fought for a living wasn't 'proper,' (and also there is the fact that her family is still looking for her) so she goes and disguises herself as a young boy. Somehow, she ends up in the company of the musketeers Athos, Porthos and Aramis (as a musketeer herself, or as a D'Artagnan-esque protege, it's up to you!). Can she keep up the disguise? Or will she be found out eventually?" 
> 
> I am unsure about where this story is going to take me, but here is the first chapter. Do with it what you will.

Constance Guillory was a well-respected young woman in her village. At sixteen she was already a seamstress of the highest caliber, taught by her mother who had learned from her grandmother and on up the line. Her father, Marcay Guillory was a merchant of some repute, buying and selling rare fabrics from the continent and beyond. Thus, it was because of these two things, and her mother’s shrewd mindedness, that landed her in her current predicament. 

“Enchante, Mademoiselle Guillory,” Jacques Bonacieux, a cloth merchant, brought her hand up to his mouth and lightly placed a kiss on her knuckles. Bonacieux was a wiry man, with hard features and an unkind mouth. He had on a suit of the finest cloth, no doubt as a subtle show of wealth and power. His hair was perfectly styled, a feat that belied his vainity. 

Constance thankfully managed to keep the distain off her face when she answered, “Enchante, Monsieur Bonacieux. Welcome to our home.” 

“Thank you for this wonderful reception,” he responded with a polite but satisfied smile. 

They both knew the purpose of the night. Bonacieux had recently approached her father with a deal to merge both of their businesses. Her father would control the business until his retirement and then it would pass to Bonacieux, under the condition that Bonacieux wed one of Guillory’s children. Constance had three older brothers that should have fought over inheriting the business but none of them were in the position to inherit. Her eldest brother was currently in the French army and showed not signs of wanting to return home. Her second eldest brother had apprenticed under her uncle, a superb ceramic trader, and was slated to take over that business. Her youngest brother, who still seven years older than Constance had been disowned. The reason for his disownment Constance had never been able to pry out of her parents but it must have been something ghastly. Constance only had one sister, who was happily married to the town blacksmith, so the duty fell to Constance to uphold her family’s honor and marry the smug cloth merchant. 

“We do what we can,” Constance replied, instead of punching the man in his smug mouth. “If you will leave your coat and hat with Tulane, I will show you to the drawing room. Papa is already there with Monsieur Joubert and Monsieur Sauveterre.”

“Of course, Constance. You do not mind if I call you Constance, do you?” Bonacieux gave her extraneous clothing items to the Guillory’s servant Tulane and followed Constance down a well-lit passageway. 

“Actually, Monsieur Bonacieux, I would prefer if you did not. We must save some things for after the wedding, mustn’t we?” Constance tried to sound as flirtatious as possible to hide her inner feelings. She really wanted to smack the smug merchant in his face, but held back because that would reflect badly on not only but her parents as well. 

“I suppose you are right,” he sighed regretfully. “I did want to-“ 

But Constance cut him off before he could say anything else that would make her want to throttle him. “Here is the drawing room, Monsieur Bonacieux.” 

She knocked once and opened the door, showing him in and nodding to her father, brother-in-law, Fabrice Sauveterre, and her father’s lawyer, Asher Joubert. Quickly she exited as nonchalantly as possible, breezing back to the kitchen to help her mother and sister finish preparations. 

The dinner went as well as could be expected. Her mother, a cunning woman of 42, oversaw all seating arrangements and placed Constance across from her example. But her mother was like that. Madam Laurence Guillory had a knack for getting anything and everything she wanted, usually through her own power. A stout mother of two daughters, Madam Guillory had the same dark auburn hair as Constance but a larger build. Constance had inherited the slim build from her father. Marcay Guillory was the perfect compliment to his wife. He balanced and soothed her more rough edges with his kind eyes and soft spoken voice. The only reason he had agreed to Monsieur Bonacieux’s proposal at all was because Constance herself had not said no. And Constance had not entertained the notion of refusing Bonacieux’s offer until she met him and the reality sunk in. 

All dinner she was subjected to Monsieur Bonacieux’s rather self-centered prattle. Occasionally he would ask her about her talents in embroidery and interests in foreign places, which were a welcome shift in conversation. Admittedly he was not as horrid as Constance had first thought him to be. When he stopped talking about himself or worrying over inane things like the current court fashions in England, he could be a decent conversation partner. 

She confessed these things to her sister later that night. Michele Sauveterre, nee Guillory, was five years older than Constance’s own sixteen and had already been married for four years. She was a pragmatic sort, more like their father, soft spoken and usually prefered to avoid confrontation. Constance on the other hand had taken after their mother, fiery passion and a keen intellect. Michele had also inherited their father’s dark brown hair and green eyes, whereas Constance had their mother’s blue-grey eyes. 

“And that’s what makes it so terrible. He’s not a horrible human being. I mean, he’s a little self-centered and does not have his priorities ordered properly so there are definitely worse men to be married to but –“ 

“But you do not want to be married,” Michele finished for her. Michele was well aware of her sister’s hidden side. Though their mother thought Constance had left her tomboy phase well behind her, Michele knew that Constance had never truly embraced being a proper woman. Michele was one of the only two that knew Constance had been practicing fencing for three years, under the strict tutelage of Michele’s own husband, Fabrice Martel. Fabrice, as a blacksmith, took great pride in crafting and using swords of elegance. 

Constance was about to speak, about to passionately proclaim that she would rather die than be married, rather wallow in a pit than be chained forever to a man that she did not love, rather run away that be forced into this mockery – when Michele cut her off 

“So what are you going to do?” Michele asked her pointedly. 

Constance sighed. And then she smiled, an idea forming

“Something that will get me thoroughly disowned.” 

\----

“She’s going to what?” Fabrice Martel demanded of his wife. 

“She’s going to do something that will get her thoroughly disowned. At least that’s what she told me.”

“And what did she mean by that?” 

“I mean,” Constance said, interrupting their late night conversation in Fabrice’s workshop. “That I’m going to do something that will get me disowned. If they can find me that is.” 

She was dressed in men’s clothing, pinched from some old chests that her male cousins left in storage at their house and never came to reclaim. The styles were somewhat outdated but Constance was sure that she could eventually pick up better clothing when she was safely out of the region. She carried a small pack, with two spare sets of men’s clothes and one set of women’s clothing. If times got tough she could dress as a woman and make a little money as a seamstress for a while. 

“Constance!” Francis exclaimed in shock at her sudden appearance. He took in her clothing choice and sighed. There were many sign going around that week.

“Nothing I say will stop you,” he assumed.

“Not a thing,” she confirmed with a mischievous grin. 

“How long have you been planning this?”

“About four hours.” It was around 11 pm. The Guillory’s dinner party had ended at 8 pm. 

Francis sighed again and shared a helpless glance with his wife. 

“You will write to us?” Michele asked her sister. Francis moved off to the back part of his workshop, rummaging through some shelves. 

“Of course, though I will sign the letters as being from Monsieur Alexis Bellamy. Fabrice, they will be addressed to you. If anyone asks I am a distant cousin that travels and likes to keep in touch with his family,” Constance shouted the last bit to Fabrice, who was still across the workshop. He raised a hand to show his acceptance and kept rummaging. 

“Constance-“ 

“Alexis, please. I have to get used to the name.”

“Very well, Alexis. You will be careful, won’t you?” 

“Absolutely.

“Where are you planning on going?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere and everywhere. Up to Flanders and Artois, maybe into Savoy, and then down around to Dauphine and Languedoc. I want to see France.” 

“What did you tell mother and father?” Michele was almost afraid to know the answer. 

“I left them a note,” Constance admittedly sheepishly. “I also left a note for Monsieur Bonacieux as well, apologizing that my heart belonged to another.” She said that last part very dramatically, batting her eyelashes for effect. 

“You made them think you eloped,” Michele said with a nod of comprehension. 

“Exactly. Apparently, on one of Papa’s business trips to England, I met a nice protestant English boy and couldn’t help but be swept away by his kind and considerate nature.” 

“That will get you disowned,” Michele admitted with a chuckle. 

“Most definitely. Can you image the look on your mother’s face? And to a protestant?” Fabrice asked the two women, gaining smiles from both as he reentered the conversation. He brought with him a canvas wrapped package and handed it Constance. 

Constance unwrapped it but then tried to hand it back. “Fabrice, no, I can’t-“ 

Fabrice gently refused. “You can and you must. I know you do not have a sword. Think of it as a good luck charm.”

“Alright, I will take the sword. But I do not know how to use a pistol,” Constance admitted as she fingered the wooden butt of the flintlock single-barreled pistol. There was an intricate design of vines and leaves winding their way around the barrel and ending at the butt that her fingers graced over on their exploration. 

“That is alright. I am sure you will find someone willing the teach you. Think of this as incentive to learn to shoot now you have your own,” Fabrice handed over a bag of lead ball ammunition. 

“And take this,” he gave her a purse, containing more than she was sure he made in a year. 

“No, Fabrice, I will not accept this.”

“Take it,” Michele ordered. “We are doing fine for ourselves. Fabrice’s parents are not as poor as mother and father think they are.” 

Constance nodded grudgingly. She attached the sword and pistol to her belt and tucked the money into a crevice hidden in the folds of her tunic. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled. She peered at the moon through the window. “I must go now, while there are no clouds.” 

Michele and Fabrice accompanied Constance into their yard where Constance’s horse, Helena, was tied up. Fabrice shook his head as soon as he saw Helena. 

“Your horse will be too recognizable. Here-“ he went around back and quickly saddle up a large brown stallion. “-this is Elba. He is used to long distance rides. I will return Helena to your parents before anyone notices he is gone.” 

“Thank you.” Constance kissed both of their cheeks and jumped on Elba. “And God Bless!” 

She rode off into the inky night; Elba kicking up clomps of earth as the pair rushed to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the home they knew. 

“God bless,” Michele called quietly, her voice fading into the gloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexis: Defender or Helper  
> Bellamy: “Beautiful Friend”  
> Sauveterre: “Safe Haven”  
> Guillory: “will” or “powerful”  
> Fabrice: “Craftsman”


	2. On the Island Abbey

Constance – as Alexis Bellamy – became something of an adventurer. She spent her first month getting used to the rules of the road as it were: how to judge which inns would be the cheapest, how to hunt when necessary, who to be wary of, et cetera. After she felt comfortable enough as Alexis Bellamy to risk it she started talking to more and more people. Most never looked twice at the slightly effeminate teen, assuming that he would grow into his masculinity with age. It worked to her advantage most times, except when she was occasionally groped by a drunken patron at a tavern. A quick and solid punch to the nose would normally shut those men down real quick though.

After that Constance began to thoroughly enjoy her time travelling. She journeyed up north first, through Brittany and into Normandy. While in Normandy she had her first adventure.

Mont Saint Michel Abbey was beautiful. It rose like a beacon in the bay, an absurdly sized lighthouse that shown with God’s love. On a clear spring day Constance had the sudden urge to see and smell the ocean. She had occasionally traveled by boat when her father took her and her mother along for one of his trips but she so rarely had the chance to watch the sea from the land. She diverged off the traveler’s dirt road she was currently on, which was lined with wagon ruts and horse tracks, at the nearest stream.

She followed that small stream until it merged into a larger river, which she figured would eventually lead to the sea. It did lead to the sea but it also lead to something else, something she had only dreamed about.The island Abbey rose higher and higher in the distance as she began to distinguish the signs of the sea. Seagulls leisurely floated in the calm river and the land turned more marshy. The distinctive pungent salty smell made itself known as she finally reached the delta where the Couesnon River joined with the ocean.

In the bay the Abbey’s stone turrets and high walls were both majestic and cowing at the same time. The might of France stood within those walls. Constance nudged Elba into movement after they had stopped to gaze upon the mesmerizing site. Unluckily the tide was out so Constance found a nice grassy patch near to river and sat down to eat a lunch of bread and cheese from her pack. She left Elba untied, free to drink and eat grass as he so chose.

It took a couple hours but the tide receded, revealing the tidal causeway that allowed visitors to reach the island Abbey. She and Elba carefully meandered across the bay to the island’s base, where a stone pathway led up mountain, switch backing several times before finally reached the Abbey at the top. There were numerous smaller buildings some made of stone, others of timber draped across the hillside. They ranged from being latrines to grain storages to living quarters for the gardener or prison guards. Constance eventually reached the top of the Mont and found a stables and a series of offices. She was lowering herself down to the ground when a friendly voice called out a greeting.

“Bonjour Monsieur!” An older priest with grey hair and a cross around his neck had come out from the cloister to greet Constance. He was dressed in simple muted clothing and had an easy smile and kind eyes. He looked to be slightly older than her father’s age of 45; he walked with a slight limp, received during a youth spent at war.

“Bonjour Abbé. Forgive me for intruding but I am afraid I have always wanted to visit Saint Michel and the chance was too good to pass up,” Constance admitted.

“Nonsense. We are always happy to have visitors. I am Abbé Benoit, one of the head priests at this humble Abbey.”

“My name is Alexis Bellamy. I am a traveler, originally from Paris, with the goal of seeing as much of France as possible.” 

“Well, she is beautiful country. You’ve picked a good time to visit Saint Michel, my boy. Most of our visitors do not start appearing until June so we have a couple rooms for travelers free that you can stay in.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t impose. I just wanted to see-“

“Do not worry. You are a traveler, yes? Then you must rest. If you are not careful you will wear yourself out. How long have you been travelling?”

Constance paused to think about this. “I don’t know. What day is it?”

“It is the 24th of April in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and twenty seven.”

“April 24th hmm? I’ll be seventeen in a week and I did not even realize,” Constance mused softly. Father Benoit had heard her though.

“Your birthday is May 1st?” He asked curiously.

“Oui. I’ve been traveling for about two months. Time flies by when you’re on the road.”

“Oh this is wonderful. One of younger nuns, Sister Hyacinthe, shares your birthday and we were planning on a small celebration for her. Now we may have twice the celebration. We all would be honored if you would stay with us at the Abbey for at least a week for the festivity,” Abbé Benoit already had a gleam in his eye when he mentioned the celebration.  
Constance decided to not offend her host and bowed to the greater power.

“Of course. I would be honored to attend.”

Abbé Benoit smiled and called one of the younger priests over to him.

“This is Brother Mathieu. Brother, please help Monsieur Bellamy with his horse and show him to one of the traveler’s rooms. He will be staying with us for two weeks.”

Constance was chagrin that she allowed the seemingly innocent priest to bully her into staying two weeks, but she laughed it off. Brother Mathieu caught sight of her rueful smile and guessed the reason.

“You were not planning on staying for two weeks, were you?”

“No I’m afraid not. I had only planned on a quick one day visit actually, but here I am,” she spread her arms helplessly.

Brother Mathieu joined in her good natured laughter. “You’ll have to forgive Abbé Benoit. He loves it when we have visitors and often tricks them into staying as long as possible. You’ll find he’s quite cunning in his old age. Never underestimate him.”

“I don’t think I ever will now. Thank you for the help by the way,” she admitted as Brother Mathieu helped her brush and rub down Elba. Once Elba was content in one of the stalls with fresh hay and water Brother Mathieu took her pack for her (over her protests) and showed her through the cloisters, down one of the back hallways to a row of doors. He opened the second door on the left and showed her in.

“Here you are. Feel free to stay as long as you’d like. If you want to drop your things off, I can actually give you a tour right now.”

“That would be much appreciated, thank you,” Constance admitted. She took her pack from Brother Mathieu and deposited it on the bed. Thoughtful, she turned back to her tour guide. “I’m assuming you’d rather I left my weapons here?”

Brother Mathieu appeared embarrassed at his poorly hidden distaste for the sword and pistol hanging on her belt. “If you do not mind. Saint Michel is quite safe, I assure you. It’s also a house of the Lord and no matter how necessary those weapons are for the world outside these walls, inside they are not. “

“I do not mind,” Constance replied with a smile as she slipped and sword and pistol out of their holsters. She placed them next to her pack and followed Brother Mathieu out the door. She dared not tell the man of God about the three daggers she had hidden on her person.

The priest showed her through the cloisters and the Chapel, then back to the library and store rooms. He made sure she knew where the kitchen and pantry were and also the latrines and communal well.

“There’s a bucket in your room for you to collect water to bathe with. We have a laundry area at another well with washboards and lines to dry if you need to perform any of those tasks,” Brother Mathieu said smartly.

“Thank you Brother Mathieu,” she replied as they passed several men dressed in Royals Guards uniforms. She turned to watch them as they disappeared down a neighboring hallway.

“Brother Mathieu?” The priest sensed the question in her address and sighed.

“Those men are here to guard the prisoners that are housed here,” he offered with a sad look.

“But this is an Abbey. How can they use this as a prison?”

“It is not a very large prison. King Louis XI started the tradition by making Saint Michel a state prison. Thankfully that notion has gone out of style, but the King still houses some  
very important prisoners here. Not violent or dangerous ones, he does not want to endanger the abbey, but political prisoners. People that could stir up an awful lot of trouble for the monarchy and for France,” Brother Mathieu admitted.

“And Abbé Benoit allows this?”

“He is powerless to stop it. Cardinal Richelieu even endorses it, however grudgingly.”

“Hmm,” Constance thought this over. “And the prisoners are all in the oubliettes? How many of them are there?”

“We are not allowed to know. If I had to guess I’d say probably only 15 or so. But the Royal Guard contingency here is 35 men strong. They spend most of their time in their barracks, those you should have seen them as you rode in, and at the oubliettes.” Brother Mathieu led them back up around to the cloisters.

“Well this concludes the tour. Meals are served at 7:30 a.m., 12:30 p.m., and 7:00 p.m. in the main dining hall. I hope to see you there.”

“Thank you Brother Mathieu,” Constance waved as he went back to his work.

\----

The week that followed was one of the most relaxing of Constance’s life. The Sisters of the Abbey took an immediate liking to her because of her youthful features. They finally had someone to mother and Constance was hard pressed to find an excuse to escape when they started to coo over her. Thankfully they did not suspect that she was female. After two months she had fully perfected more masculine gestures, stances, and gaits as well as shifting her voice down in pitch to disguise her naturally more airy, higher, and feminine tone. The one good thing about being cooed over by the Sisters was that she got free Latin lessons from them. Because she was a woman she had never been taught to read or write in Latin or French so she used the week to beg lessons off Sister Joelle and Brother Romain when they weren’t busy.

Constance also restocked her food stocks and mended and washed her clothes. She also gathered up some bandages with which to bind her chest as the ones she were used now were starting to wear down.

When she wasn’t with the Sisters or Brothers of the Abbey or preparing for the next leg of her journey she would explore the Mont and its grounds. The only downfall to her experience was the guards constantly watching everything she did. Though Brother Mathieu had said they normally stayed at their barracks or near the oubliettes, Constance noticed that more and more often she would see guards patrolling the grounds. They all seemed to be new too. A boat had docked the third day she was there, bringing with it a new group of guards. Presumably the old ones left the island and these were there to cover the new shift.There did not seem to be as many as 35 though. If Constance had to guess she’d say there were about 20 guards in total. Maybe budget cuts were getting to them.

The new guards were much harsher than the previous sort. She had had a lovely conversation with a guard named Simon Lapointe the second day she arrived about abbeys in France. Simon had responded to her prying questions with a cheerful ruefulness, well aware what she was trying to do but willing to indulge anyway. These guards just glared at her any time she even breathed. They made her feel queasy, like something was off.

May 1st couldn’t come any sooner in her opinion. She’d met Sister Hyacinthe earlier in the week, finding her an agreeable if strict nun well on in her years. They had commiserated together over Abbé Benoit. It seemed that Sister Hyacinthe had no desire for a party either, but Abbé Benoit had managed to manipulate her as well. 

Abbé Benoit made sure everyone came to dinner that evening. More effort had obviously been put into this dinner than the previous she’d enjoyed at the Abbey. Instead of the  
normal stew and bread there were even some rarer fruits like strawberries. Constance savored a strawberry bit by bit. All the priests and nuns were congregated in main dining hall, enjoying the food. It was the first time she’d seen all of them together. Even the support staff like the gardeners and stable hand were there. Normally there was a handful missing from each meal. All together there must have been a little over two hundred people in the hall. She did not see any of the guards there though.

Brother Mathieu passed by and Constance grasped his hand to stop him. “Did Abbé Benoit invite any of the Royal Guards?”

“I believe he invited all of them. None of them accepted,” Brother Mathieu’s face showed what he thought of that statement. Obviously he did not approve of the recent contingent  
of guards.

“Don’t you find that odd? None of them accepted, out of all 35?” Constance was up and moving away before Brother Mathieu had time to answer.

He had to jog to catch up with her as she quickly pushed her way to the entrance. “A little, but the guards have always been antisocial.”

“Yes, but this is pushing it to new degree. As much as I question Abbé Benoit’s means, people will come to something if they think they are going to be entertained. Living and  
working on a small island cannot be much fun, especially for men that are used to the hustle and bustle of Paris. Do you normally have to deal with some of the guards going stir crazy?”

“It’s only been four days,” Brother Mathieu exclaimed.

Constance just pinned him with a hard stare.

“Yes,” he admitted after a pause. “By now one or two of them should have at least sparred out by their barracks.”

“But they haven’t,” Constance contradicted.

“No they have not,” Brother Mathieu reluctantly agreed.

“Not a peep out of them.” Constance finally made it to the doors. They were firmly shut and when Constance tried to push against them they would not budge. She tried harder, putting most of her weight behind her. Still they wouldn’t move.

“Help me open these doors,” she ordered Brother Mathieu. Together they tried but nothing happened.

By now other people had caught on. Abbé Benoit came over, drawn by the crowd.

“What is going on?” He asked.

“Abbé,” Constance called breathlessly. “Are these doors supposed to be locked?”

“Certainly not. They should not lock from the outside.”

“Well apparently they do now,” Constance shot back. She turned to the nearest person who happened to be Sister Hyacinthe. “Sister, would you please check the other exits?”  
The older nun nodded gravely and swished away. Constance turned back to Abbé Benoit. “Do you know who is being jailed here currently?”

Constance could see the gears turning in Benoit’s head. He turned from the locked doors to the assembled crowd, realizing for the first time that the only people left outside the room were the Royal Guards.

“I shouldn’t know but I heard whispers. Vincent Rey.”

The people that heard what Benoit said all jerked back in alarm. Rey was a notorious figure to everyone in France. Five years ago he and his followers had led a bloodied but short lived civil war. Rey himself wasn’t dangerous, he preferred to act as leader and voice of the movement, too sophisticated to dirty his hands. His mercenaries were another matter entirely. They had the unpleasant reputation of slaughtering every person that stood in their way.

“Alexis!” Sister Hyacinthe returned with bleak news. “All the doors are locked. There is no way to get out.”

Constance and Benoit contemplated this.

“Rey’s followers must have disguised themselves as Royal Guards assert themselves on the island,” Benoit deduced.

“Then they waited for the perfect opportunity to strike,” Constance finished.

“When we were all distracted by the celebration and in one place-“

“They struck and locked the doors. They must be springing Rey from his jail cell right now.” Constance finished.

She turned to the assembled crowd. “When was the last time someone entered or exited?”

One of the priests answered. “I left fifteen minutes ago to get the last batch of strawberries.”

“Did anyone leave any time after that?” She asked everyone else.

Nobody answered so she took that to mean the door had been locked or bolted within the last fifteen minutes.

“If it’s only been fifteen minutes we still might have time,” she concluded to Benoit and Mathieu.

“Time for what?” Mathieu demanded but Benoit was nodding.

“Secret passage?” She asked Benoit.

“Yes, in the back, near the altar.” Abbé Benoit lead them to a niche in the wall. He knelt down, running his fingers over the bottom molding. His fingers caught on an imperfection and he applied a bit more pressure. A switch clicked and a small section of molding receded. The entire wall swung back, revealing a small passageway.

The passageway was not lit and it seemed like a black void disappearing off into the gloom. One of the nuns retrieved a torch from its holder on the wall and gave it to Abbé Benoit.

“Time for what?” Brother Mathieu repeated as Constance and Benoit gazed into the gloom.

“Time to stop them,” Abbé Benoit answered. “Alexis?” He turned to the Abbey visitor and Constance sensed what he was trying to say.

“High tide is still in. They’ll have to take the boat out. If one group can go straight to the dock and take the boat out, they should be safe on the water if they get out far enough. This dining hall is not safe enough however. Abbé, is there a keep of some sort here for all of you to hide?”

“There is, behind the chapel. What are you planning?”

“We have to stop Rey and his men from escaping. However, that will make us a target if we stop them. So we have to move everyone to a place where they will be safe and find a way to call for help. Do you have a method for contacting the main land?”

Abbé Benoit nodded. “We have a collection of carrier pigeons near the docks that are trained to fly to St. Kathrine’s church in Pontorson.“ 

“That’s good. If there are any volunteers that would be willing to steal Rey’s boat and send a message to the mainland, I can hopefully distract Rey and his party long enough for you to make an escape. That should also give Abbé Benoit enough time to get everyone else into the keep.”

“Alexis, that’s very dangerous. You could most definitely be killed,” Sister Joelle gasped.

“No I won’t. I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oubliette: A secret dungeon with entrance only by a trapdoor at the top.


	3. Under Seige

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my Beta ThinktoThought, who puts up with my rather passive-aggressive habits and sarcastic comments with patience and even more sarcastic comebacks. 
> 
> Just to give everyone an overview of where this story is heading, I am planning a couple more story arcs like the Saint Michel one and then Constance will meet up with D'Artagnan and the others during the Pilot. I just really like the thought of Constance having her own adventures but don't worry, the Musketeers will get here eventually.

Five of the priests volunteered to steal the boat and send for help. Constance handed over one of her daggers to the priest in charge of the group, Brother Romain.

“If you can, check the guard house,” she murmured to Brother Romain as he passed by her. “See if there are any spare weapons.”

Brother Romain nodded, took another torch from the wall, and led his group into the passageway.

After the sound of their footfalls petered out Constance turned to Abbé Benoit. “How long do you think it would take Rey’s men to break him out?”

“Probably about an hour. Those catacombs go on for what feels like miles, even though this is an island. There are entrances and exits scattered all over. I’m not sure if Rey’s men found them. They only seemed to be focused on the main entrance.”

“That’s not true,” one of the gardeners contradicted. Benoit and Constance turned to him sharply but the slight, mousy looking man stood firm against their intense stares. 

“There’s an exit down on the northern slope that they were hanging about for the past couple days.” 

“The docks are on the eastern side but you have to go all the way around. It’s been about 30 or so minutes already so we still have a half an hour. They will probably have some men at the exit, just in case. That could work to my advantage actually. But first I have to go to my room and get my sword,” Constance told Abbé Benoit.

“Be careful,” he cautioned her.

“I will.” She handed Abbé her second dagger. “Just in case.”

“God bless.”

Others wished her well as she entered the passageway. It was dark and damp and not an altogether comforting place. For the first time she felt a stab of pity for Rey and the others  
in the oubliettes, locked underground with no way of feeling the sun on their faces.

The passage wound back and forth several times before she reached a wall, left slightly ajar by Brother Romain and his group. She peered out into the passageway but couldn’t see anyone in the light created by her torch. Taking this as a good sigh she eased her body out of the passageway and returned the door to its partially closed position. The passageway had deposited her near the food storage, which luckily was only a couple corridors away from her room. Praying that she did not meet any of the fake guards she sprinted down the hallways. The whole place was deserted. She made it to her room with no trouble, quickly locating her sword and strapping back onto her belt.

Next she went to the stables and retrieved Elba. She did not bother with a saddle, instead throwing her whole body onto the big horse. She also released the five other horses that were in the stable, all property of Mont Saint Michel. If her plan was to work, she had to make Rey’s men think the island was being invaded by legitimate Royal Guards.

It had been about ten minutes since she left the dining hall. By this point the men standing guard would probably be getting restless. It was time to put her plan into motion. Nudging Elba forward and onto the cobblestone path she dropped her torch into a nearby water barrel. It went out with a hiss, and darkness quickly settled back over the land. The moon was waning, a little less than half, meaning there was still some light but not enough to be able to see clearly. Perfect.

She took off, ordering Elba into a full gallop. The other horses, unused to being allowed to roam free, followed suit. All five sets of hooves sounded like a thunderstorm, echoing off the buildings and rock that lined the pathway down the hill. When she judged she was almost to the northernmost section of the path, near where the gardener said the exit was she started shouting.

“Left squad, up the hill! Locate Abbé Benoit and secure the Chapel. Right squad, return to the docks. Make sure no one gets past you and escapes. Everyone else, with me! Let’s go hunt down these traitorous bastards. Dead or alive I don’t care, just make sure Rey does not make it off this island!”

She yelled as loud as she could, projecting as much military bearing into her voice as possible. Hopefully Rey’s men wouldn’t notice that she had been coming from up the hill. Luckily at the first intersection the horses scattered in each direction, magnifying the dispersal of sound and giving the illusion of groups splitting off to fulfill their individual purposes. Constance herself brought Elba to a stop and disembarked. Off along the northern slope, off the beaten path she could see a faint glow of torches. As quickly as she dared Constance crept nearer on a ledge slightly beneath them until she could make out five or so men all around a large opening in the rock face almost directly above her.

Just as she hid under an overhanging ledge, the pounding of feet reached her ears. Fifteen men exited the opening one at a time, the last two all but dragging one weaker man between them. Rey must be the one they were carrying. He was still weak from being locked up for so long and would require aid. That meant that not all of them would be focused on their surroundings. Fortune favored her in another way because there were only 20 men, rather than the expected 35.

“Boss!” One of the men who had been standing watch shouted at a tall, broad shouldered man with a goatee. “Someone else is on the island! Heard horses, we did, and someone shouting, on the path over there. Sounded like they was coming from the docks. Someone must have tipped ‘em off. What should we do?” 

“How many were there?” The boss growled.

“Must ‘ave been ten or so. They all had horses and split into three groups at that crossroad there.”

“Right. Our first priority is to get Master Rey to safety. Then we can come back and hunt down those royal dogs.”

The others grumbled but did as ordered. They moved in a large clump, encircling their weakened leader. The outer circle watched every direction so it would be hard for  
Constance to sneak up on them. She’d have to cause a distraction when they were sufficiently addled.

Constance left her post and Elba behind, tied to a tree out of sight. She carefully crept behind them, formulating her next move. Rey’s men moved slowly, waiting for an ambush that was not coming. Constance was about to follow them from the shadows of the building when a hand clamped around her mouth and pulled her back into an abandoned house.

“Shhh,” a familiar voice cautioned. “It is alright. It’s me, Simon.”

She turned and Simon Lapointe was grinning back at her. Behind him in the recesses of the house were fifteen other guards, all looking worse for the wear but with an intensity that Constance couldn’t help but feel.

“Simon!” She gasped. “I’m so glad you’re not dead. What happened?”

“Those fakes came on the boat in replacement of our other squad. We assumed they were legitimate until they locked us up in a basement. Brother Romain set us free when he was looking for weapons.”

“This is wonderful,” Constance cried, already revising her plan.

“I take it you have an idea?” Simon asked.

“Indeed I do. Would you all be willing to help me?” She asked the assembled men.

“Boy, it would be our pleasure,” one of the older guards answered. He had a grizzly appearance, all chiseled muscles and hard scars, and looked positively giddy at causing pain for those who had locked him up. All the other guards were nodding in agreement.

“Good. Here’s what needs to happen.”

As she explained her plan she could feel the others warming up to the idea. This might actually work.

\--------

Meanwhile, Rey and his men were finally approaching the docks and found something altogether displeasing. The one called ‘Boss’ let out a loud lion-like roar when he realized the boat they had docked was nowhere in sight.

“What happened!” He demanded of the nearest man.

“Don’t know sir. That is, I assume it was those Royal Guards. They must ‘ave taken the boat. Only its high tide sir. What are we gonna do?”

The Boss was about to yell again when a large explosion knocked them all off their feet. A bright fire began burning some 100 yards away, barely visible because of all the small buildings in the way.

The Boss growled again. Addressing the closest ten men he ordered, “You lot! Go see what that was!”

They took off into the night, all but sprinting to escape Boss’ temper. Just as Boss what going to issue his next order, good fortune came in the form of two of the Royal Guards. Both looked to be just boys, barely sprouting any facial hair. Easy pickings.

“Shit!” The younger one cried. “It’s Rey! We’ve got to tell the Commander!”

Both took off in the opposite direction, away from the pack of mercenaries, heading back up the path towards the Chapel.

“After them boys!” The Boss shouted. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some rabbits to hunt.”

The men grinned their agreement, sadistic thoughts abound. They ran after the two young Guardsmen, the Boss following later, after ordering the ones supporting Rey and two others to stay put and find cover.

The two Guardsmen ran up the hill and instead of taking the path to the right that went up to the Chapel went on the middle path, the one that meandered back around to the secret exit the mercenaries had just left.

“We’ve got them now, there’s nowhere for them to run,” the Boss shouted. Indeed, the two Guardsmen gazed helplessly at the wallowing opening in the rock, looking for all the world like a gaping mouth ready to swallow the poor boys whole. The boys looked back over their shoulder at the mob chasing after them and ducked into the opening.  
The mercenaries followed them hungrily. None of them bothered with torches so they continued running for several hundred feet before the Boss finally regained his senses and ordered them to stop.

“Listen,” he growled. “Can you hear them?”

None of them could hear the telltale pitter-patter of footfalls that would mark their prey. The only thing they heard was their own shallow breathing in the dark. But then, from back behind them, a noise!

It started as a low groaning before turning to a full on crashing, like thousands of pots falling down a flight of stairs.

The Boss realized too late what that sound meant. “Retreat! It’s a trap! Back out to the entrance!”

They were too late. The cave entrance had collapsed behind them, trapping them inside.

“We’ll have to retrace our steps back to the Chapel,” the Boss told his subordinates. “Now, let’s move it!” Inwardly he was steaming, plotting all the terrible things he was going to do those two tricksters that had locked them in here.

\----

He never got the chance. Constance had seen to that with her plan.

“Alright,” she had whispered to the guards in the abandoned house before they had split up. “The main goal is to break up the intruders into as many groups as possible. That will make it easier to deal with each group. First thing is we need a distraction. I want seven people to go to the gardener’s shed. In the shed you should find some gun powder; the gardener has an emergency store of it for the cannons up on the walls in case of necessity. Then make as big an explosion as you can, preferably on the burn pile. That should draw out some of the intruders, just be ready to deal with them.”

Luckily there were some spare weapons in the barracks that the guards were able to seize.

“After we’ve lured some of them away and made them sufficiently panicked we’ll go after the main group. My plan is to lock them back into the tunnel they’ve just escaped from. I will act as bait and lure them into the tunnel where I need at least three of you to be ready with an appropriately timed rock slide. Two more, preferably the ones with the most experience with where those passages in the oubliettes let out, should go and secure all the exits above ground so they cannot escape once we’ve trapped them. The rest will be ready to go after Rey and who’s ever left. I’m assuming there won’t be that many, since most will be chasing after me.”

“And me,” Simon chipped in. “There’ll be a bigger draw if there are two of us.”

Constance glared at him, but he just stared back resolutely. Finally she relaxed, signaling her agreement and turned back to the other sixteen men.

“Right, well, let’s get to it then. For France!” She whispered strongly. The others echoed her and solemnly broke up into four groups.

After that the rest of the plan was easy. Rey’s men, already rattled by the missing boat absolutely jumped at the explosion. The seven sent off to deal with the blaze were quickly subdued and tied up by the first group of guards. The ‘Boss’ and his group were readily tricked into the tunnel by Constance and Simon’s quick sleight of hand. And Rey for all the trouble was easy to capture with the four other men left.

Simon saw the consolidation of the prisoners into the basement of the barracks. Poetic justice because that was where Simon and his men had been held just hours before.  
Constance meanwhile caught up with the two guards she had ordered to make sure all the exits were locked. Together the three alerted Abbé Benoit to the current situation and he helped them find any other exits that had gone unnoticed.

By midnight the intruders not trapped in the catacombs were tied up in the basement under the watchful eye of ten guards. The others were patrolling constantly. The freed nuns and priests also took up guard duty, unwilling to be locked in the dining hall again.

Constance however felt nothing but the desire to lie in bed for an entire decade. Her muscles were shaking and her body drooped with exhaustion. But taking in all the guards and nuns and priests walking quickly, purposefully, with their heads held high made her smile. This is why she went on an adventure: to help people, to experience new things, to make a difference.

“Happy birthday to me,” she concluded quietly to herself. And what a birthday it had been.

\----

The next morning a whole French cavalry descended upon the Mont Saint Michel. The five priests that had escaped on the boat had immediately gone to the nearest city and alerted the constables. The constables alerted the military and the military sprang into action. At first low tide the tidal causeway was revealed and fifty French soldiers rode across the bay to the Abbey.

The army’s general, Proulx, had expected to find the prisoners had escaped and the priests safe in their keep. He did not expect to find the whole Abbey bustling with action, with half of Rey’s men captured and the other half trapped in the oubliettes and Rey himself tied up like a Christmas goose in a basement.

“Well, Abbé, it seems like I am in your debt. You prevented a notorious prisoner from escaping and wreaking havoc upon France. The country owes you its sincerest thanks.” Proulx said, addressing Abbé Benoit.

“It wasn’t me General. It was a young man named Alexis Bellamy. He was a guest here at the Abbey and led the whole defense. He’s the one that prevented Vincent Rey from escaping.”

“Very good, very good. Where is he now?”

“He’s resting. Poor lad, only seventeen you know.”

“Well I’d very much like to speak with him,” Proulx said.

“I realize that General, but you’ll have to wait a little while. In the meantime how about you and your men help us gather up all our missing horses. They’re around here somewhere.”

While Abbé Benoit used his wily cunning on a new victim, Constance was indeed getting some much needed sleep. When she awoke in the evening most of the French soldiers had already left, taking with them Rey and all of his men, including those that had been trapped in the catacombs. General Proulx personally thanked Constance at dinner. Constance waved him off, but was secretly flattered. 

The next week, a full two weeks after she had arrived at Saint Michel, Constance saddled up Elba and rode away from the main Chapel. She was leaving behind several new friends, but she had promised to write Simon and Abbé Benoit when she was able and they all waved to her as she was riding away.When she had crossed the bay and reached the shore, she turned back to Saint Michel, offering one last bow of farewell. Then she kicked her heels and led Elba off, in search of a new adventure.


	4. Spain in Flanders

Flanders was an beautiful region with an odd dialect and unluckily it was where her money ran dry the first time. Thankfully, she was able to pick up enough of the local dialect to set up a reputation as a seamstress that had recently lost her husband and needed extra money. She figured it was safe enough to use her first name so she went by Constance Dupris, formerly of Paris. Though she had to be careful a couple times because the Spanish still controlled most of the area at the time. However, being a widowed seamstress was much less noteworthy than a travelling man with a sword and pistol. She would even do free mending for some Spanish garrisons stationed at Bruges. 

That was how she received her first lessons in firearms. Ekaitz De Leon was a Spanish captain at the Bruges outpost and a man of honor. 

“Senorita, you must let me pay you for mending my trousers. You do better work than my own mother, though please do not tell her I told you so,” the handsome, playful captain told her one day at the Markt. She had set up station at the Markt near the belfry and had a steady stream of customers as her reputation spread. 

“I insist, Captain. It is my way of free advertising for my abilities, so do not think I am doing this for free,” Constance joked. 

“Yes, but with the advertising you’ve done so far everyone from here to Barcelona should know of your skills in needle craft. Isn’t there anything I could offer in trade?” 

Constance thought about this. The pistol Fabrice gave her was safely hidden away with her sword and men’s clothes under the floorboards in the room she had rented for the month in a boarder’s house. It had yet to be fired and although she had not been in dire need of it yet, it was better to be able to use when the time came than have it hang useless at her side during danger (example A: it might have come in handy at Mont Saint Michel). 

“Very well, Captain, I’ve thought of something. But you must keep this absolutely secret. I do not wish for my reputation to be ruined by this.”

“My lady, I would never dare!” He appeared affronted at even the thought of ruining a lady's reputation.

“Alright then. Teach me to shoot.” 

De Leon’s face grew confused. “To shoot? As in with a pistol?”

“Oui. I have almost amassed enough money to start travelling again and if I learned how to use a pistol I would feel better travelling by myself.” 

“But Senorita, it is not done-“

“Yes, I am aware that women do not learn how to fire pistols. However, I need to learn how to fire a pistol. So either you will teach me or I will do your laundry for free. Which do  
you find more intolerable?” Constance argued with an upturned mouth. 

“Well, when you put it like that, name your time and place Senorita Dupris.” Capint De Leon matched her slight smile with a quirky uptick of his mouth. He bowed to her wisdom and accepted her proposal. 

They shook on it. Three days later found Constance and Captain De Leon in the forest for their first lesson. She had quite a time of it at first. The shock from the recoil made it difficult to keep a proper aim. But eventually she learned to compensate for it. Three days after that their second lesson happened. After two weeks later Constance was proficient enough to shoot a melon off the top of a tree stump without hitting the stump. 

“Quite a feat,” Captain De Leon mused. “I could not do that until much later in my career. You are very talented Senorita."

“Not talented,” Constance bantered back. “Just very, very determined. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

She was. After a month and a half in Bruges, her feet and thighs had started aching, phantom pains reminding her of the open road. The wanderlust had set in again, no matter how beautiful Bruges and its canals and belfries were. She’d said most of her goodbyes today, citing that her parents needed her back on their farm in Brittany. 

“Tomorrow?” De Leon echoed. 

“Very early in the morning too. I want to get a good start.” All of her things were hidden in a cave she’d found not too far from here, including her horse Elba. Elba had spent the time in Burgest being lent out to a poor farmer for a minimal fee to make her some more money. 

De Leon stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “Senorita, are your sure you are not a man?”

Constance drew a breath to be affronted but De Leon stopped her.

“I do not mean that negatively, Senorita. But it seems to me you would be much happier if you had been a man, able to shoot and explore without worry. It worries me, you out there as a woman. People would take advantage.”

“Please do not worry Captain. And call me Constance for once. We have known each other quite intimately these past few weeks.”

“Very well then. Constance.”

“Good. But I will be fine. Can you keep a secret?”

“Absolutely.” Captain De Leon swore, with a hand over his heart. 

“I have no intention of going home to Brittany.”

“My dear Constance, I never thought anything of the kind,” De Leon admitted. 

“You will not try to stop me?”

“Never dream of it. But there is one thing…”

“What?” Constance asked, suspicious. 

“Try to keep in contact. And send for me if you need any help. I do have connections, even though I’m stationed at this rather quiet outpost.” 

“I would be delighted Captain.”

And the next morning, before the sun had been stirred from its resting place by Apollo, Constance set off. She left behind a slice of life so foreign but so similar to one she might have had. It hadn't been hard to imagine living in a big city, in Paris and making a living off of sewing. The churches and brick buildings that lined the streets could have come from her native France or even Italy, so it was easy to forget she wasn't back in Paris. But as she set off now she was moving south, going further away from her home near Paris and towards new adventures unknown.


	5. A Slow Summer

After leaving Flanders, Constance traveled south. She unhurriedly strolled through the east end of the Duchy of Bar, leisurely riding as summer started. Summer in France was gorgeous. As beautiful as the area around Paris was, it had nothing on the French countryside. Instead of staying at Inns most nights, Constance took to offering a day’s work to stay in a barn so as to save on money. Quite a few of the poorer farmers took her up on the offer.

That was how she ended up spending a couple weeks in the land between Flanders and Savoy with a nice young family as autumn crept closer. Constance had been wading in the local river with her boots off, relaxing in the noonday sun when she noticed a man a little older than herself having difficulty with a barrel of hay. He was about to tip over when Constance jumped in to help. She supported the barrel on the other side of his shoulder.

“Merci, Monsieur,” Francis called from underneath the heavy load.

“Not a problem, sir. Do you need help?” Constance asked. She did not wait for him to answer and instead grabbed the second barrel and hefted it onto her shoulders. “Where are you heading with these?”

“That’s alright, Monsieur. I can manage.” Francis was embarrassed he had to rely on some stranger.

“Nonsense. I am more than happy to lend a hand. I am Alexis by the way, not monsieur. Alexis Bellamy.”

“Francis. Francis Abelle.”

Constance left Elba tied to a tree and helped Francis carry his bales of hay through a couple neighboring meadows to Francis’ farm and into his barn. They were piling the bales on the side of the barn when the side door opened.

“Dear, you’ll never guess what George did tod- Oh, you have a guest.” A young blonde woman with sky blue eyes entered, carrying a bundle in her arms. The bunde fussed and she gently rocked it from side to side while peering curiously at Constance.

“Yes. Margaret, this is Alexis Bellamy. He lent me a hand carrying the hay back from market. Alexis, this is my lovely wife Margaret and our youngest daughter Beatrice.”

“Enchante,” Constance greeted as she nodded to Margaret.

“Enchante, Monsieur. Thank you for helping my husband.”

“It was my pleasure. And please, call me Alexis.”

“Very well. Alexis then. Your accent… You are from Paris?”

“You have a good ear, Madam. Yes, I am from a small village just outside of Paris.”

“If it is not too impertinent, may I ask what you are doing here in Charolles?”

“I am traveling. France is such a beautiful country and my goal is to see as much of it as I can.”

“What are you going to do after you finish?” Margaret wanted to know.

“Pardon?”

“After you finish travelling, I mean. Surely you have something planned?”

In truth Constance did not. At first her goal was to merely escape her fate, her marriage to Monsieur Bonancieux. Now though… she had been on the road for almost a half a year  
and did not spy an end in sight. Travelling made her feel alive. The wanderlust had not quieted one bit. In fact it had only grown louder.

“In truth, Madame, I do not.”

“But don’t you need a rest once in a while. It is almost September,” Margaret pointed out.

“Do not remind me,” Francis groaned. He said it jokingly, but Constance and Margaret could see the unease in his eyes. “Winter will be on us before we know it and I stilled do not have all the preparations made.” He turned to Constance. “Normally I would be done harvesting the fields by now but Margaret couldn’t help this year because of Beatrice. We also have two young sons but they’re not even five yet.”

Constance thought about this for a second. “Would you accept my help then?”

“Pardon, Monsieur?” Francis slipped back into formality in his surprise.

“What I mean is I’ve been pondering taking a break from traveling for a while now. I could give you a hand in the fields if you’ll allow my horse and I space in your barn to sleep.” 

She’d slept worse and Francis really looked like he could use the help.

Francis and Margaret shared a disbelieving work. Then Francis smiled. “But of course. You will not be sleeping in the barn though. Our house is small but there is a loft we use for storage that could be turned into a bedroom just fine. Is that acceptable?”

“Absolutely, but I must warn you I’ve never done farm work before.”

“It’s alright. By the time we’re done I’ll make a proper farm hand out of you yet,” Francis grinned.

“Deal,” they shook hands to seal it and Constance left to collect Elba from where he was leisurely working his way through the lush grass on the stream’s edge.

\-----

When Constance returned she was introduced to the couple’s two young sons. Alain, the eldest was four and Leon, the middle child was two. For the first couple days Constance lived with the Abelle’s, Leon spent most of the time she was in the same room as him hiding in Margaret’s skirts. It was only after she fixed his ripped stuffed lion with a quick stitch that he began to open up. Alain however was never that shy. He took to pestering her at any possible moment about her travels. She even told him a very watered down retelling of what had taken place at Mont Saint Michel.

Francis had come in half-way through that particular tale and stared at her in shock as she finished. Later he told her, “I heard about the attempted break out of Rey a while back in the village pub. For some reason everyone told me you were a six foot tall man of muscle that could take down fifty men with his sword and then the other fifty with his bare hands.”

Constance stared at him then she burst out laughing. “No, Francis. I’m nothing of the sort. I suppose that’s what rumors do; they contort truths into parodies of themselves. But I can say I never thought I would be the source of these rumors.”

“Well at least you’re not as well-known as those Musketeer fellows. I’m still half convinced that Porthos is a man straight out of l’Afrique and Athos is a vicious ruffian that can kill anyone six different ways for every day of the year,” Francis declared.

Constance shook her head. Even she’d heard the outlandish tales about the most famous three Musketeers in France. But she dismissed most of them, like these, as rumor and gossip. Clearly she wasn’t a six foot tall sword welding maniac.

Alain once again grabbed her attention by pulling at her arm. “Tell us another story Alexis,” he pleaded. Leon, from his chair near the hearth nodded in agreement without speaking, though he did grasp his stuffed lion a little more tightly.

Constance smiled at them and returned to her chair. She entertained the boys for another hour more, telling them all the tales she could remember from the one time she listened to one of her brothers reading out loud 1001 Arabian Nights. Obvious she’d have to increase her story repertoire because at this rate the boys would exhaust hers. It was odd to think that if she’d kept to the plan her parents had for her, she might have been with child soon. After all, that was the typical path women had now.

And as much as she enjoyed spending time with Alain and Leon and their boundless energy and endearing enthusiasm, she could not imagine being a wife and mother. She was now even more thankful she’d left.

\-----

She spent nearly a month and a half with the Abelle’s. Most of the time was filled with a quiet contentedness, Constance slotting into their lives easily and effortlessly. She took over the job of watching Alain and Leon since they were so taken with her, allowing Margaret some time to rest.

Every day she worked hard, hoeing, chopping, kneeling, and lifting until her muscles did not even have the strength left to protest. Not to mention she got up early every morning to practice with her sword. It was useful for conditioning the muscles she’d felt loosen when she was working for those weeks as a seamstress. By the time she left in mid-October, she was ready to face the open road again.

Francis and she had, between them, managed to harvest all three acres of his land and ready the family for the winter that was approaching. A week later, Constance was saddling up Elba in preparation for taking off. Margaret had tried to get her to stay the winter, but Constance knew they’d have a hard enough time with baby Beatrice. So few young ones survived their first year that Margaret and Francis needed all the food they could spare.

“Good bye, Margaret,” Constance said, kissing the young mother’s cheek affectionately. She shook hands with Francis and kissed both boys on the forehead.

“Do you have to leave us?” Alain asked with a sniffle as she mounted the large horse.

“Yes, I’m afraid I do. There are so many more lands to visit. Besides, you want me to have new stories to tell you the next time I visit, correct?”

At this, Alain and Leon smiled hopefully.

“Be careful,” Francis warned, more somber than his sons. He knew that winter was coming and that the roads could get dangerous if she didn’t find some place to hunker down.

Constance received the silent message and nodded in response.

“Good luck,” Margaret added. “And God Bless!”

“God Bless,” Constance called in return as she turned Elba towards the road and nudged him into a swift canter. The Duchy of Savoy waited in front of her, the promise of adventure on the horizon. She grinned and leaned forward, urging Elba to go faster, and faster, and faster.


	6. Into Savoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this story has turned into a bigger monster than I originally thought it was going to be. Sorry about how long its taking me to get to Paris, but at least we're finally meeting people that are in the show.

The Duchy of Savoy spanned from the southeast of France to the many states that made up Italy and was ruled over by Charles Emmanuel I, though he had been Duke for nearly 50 years. Everyone was waiting for his son, Victor Amadeus I, who was married to King Louis XIII’s sister, to take over the throne once Charles Emmanuel died. Constance decided to go as Alexis still. She had enough money to live through the winter, so she didn’t have to spend time as Constance Dupris on this adventure.

Constance and Elba entered the Duchy from the northwest, leisurely riding until she got to Turin, the capital of Savoy. Turin had been made the Capital of the Duchy in 1583 by Emmanuel Philibert, who moved it from Chambéry. Now it stood proud along the banks of the Eridanus[1] River, with the walled inner forum of the city housing the royal palaces and gardens. The Palace Madame stood out most prominently among all the grandeur and it was also where Charles Emmanuel and the royal family lived. 

The beginning of November had set upon her while she wasn’t paying attention so the weather was awfully bad now. She decided Turin was as good a city as any to spend the winter and thus went about getting to know the lay of the land. 

Constance spent a day doing reconnaissance on the city, beginning to get a feel for the lay of the land. Turin was a prosperous city, the capital of an even more prosperous Duchy. It was not a mystery why France’s royal family had married one of their daughters into the House of Savoy. Constance had started up numerous conversations that day, inquiring about everything from the price of carrots in the market to the latest gossip surrounding the royals. The language was a different dialect of French, with some people who spoke Italian. Constance had some difficulties at first, but was able to pick up the different annunciations by the end of the day. 

The price of carrots was 2 coppers for a dozen, which was not helpful in the least. However, through a widowed laundry maid, Constance discovered that Christine Marie of France had married Victor Amadeus nearly 10 years ago. They had one son, who was four years old named Louis Amadeus of Savoy. Christine Marie’s husband was currently next in line to inherit the title of Duke. 

Popular public opinion was that the current Duke could do no wrong. His son was a less certain quantity, at least in the eyes of the public. Victor Amadeus was technically the second son of Charles Emmanuel, but the eldest had died at least 20 years ago. The third son was the more popular choice to inherit the Duchy but he was currently ruling over Sicily. Everyone was at least ambivalent about Victor because he had Louis, an heir that would be ready to inherit the throne in case of sudden death. If Louis hadn’t been born, problems might have arisen.

Everyone loved Christine Marie however, which was good for Constance. She sold the story that she was a loyal French citizen and wanted to visit Savoy to see the Princess’ child, who was a part of the bloodline of France. 

Thus she was able to spend the day quietly among the people of the market.

The next day was when everything changed. Constance had gotten up before the sunrise to practice her swordsmanship in one of the poorer public courts. There were a couple men there as well, mostly city guards or retired soldiers and she played some friendly bouts with them. She was able to beat the city guards but had some trouble with the retired soldier. It was nearly 8 am when she exchanged pleasant farewells with the men and ventured to the market. She purchased a cup of lightly spiced hot cider to ward off the chill that was setting in as she stopped moving and walked leisurely up and down San Carlo Square, which was exceedingly crowded in comparison to yesterday. Perhaps yesterday was just a slow day at the market.

She exchanged greetings with some of the vendors she talked with yesterday, nearly elbowing her way through a couple of severe looking men with griffins all tattooed on their necks. They glared at her, but she gave them a look, as if to say, ‘what?-it’s-not-my-fault-you’re-blocking-a-perfectly-good-pathway’. They seemed to dismiss her grudgingly and Constance went back to sipping on her apple cider. 

An especially gossipy older woman, Madame Renee, waved her over grandly. 

“Oh, Alexis, darling,” Madame Renee kissed both her cheeks and took her hand.

“Bonjour Madame Renee. How are you this morning?”

“I’m wonderful today, just absolutely tickled. I have news for you, my dear boy. You have picked the best day to visit our beautiful city. Do you know why?”

“I am but a lowly traveler Madame. Would you and your boundless knowledge care to enlighten this ignorant soul?” Constance knew the best way to appease the diva was to play along with her dramatic nature. That proved to be the wisest option because Madame Renee looked about ready to burst with her knowledge.

“Oh, Alexis, I have the most wonderful news. The Royals are riding through town today! They’re leaving for their estate in Rivoli for the winter, but they’ll be going right by here. Imagine, the Royals! They’ll be less than 50 feet away from my stand. Maybe they’ll see something and want to buy it.”

Constance personally doubted it. Madame Renee sold soaps, but her stall front was not the most appealing to the eye.

“That’s wonderful, Madame Renee,” Constance instead said. “Do you know what time they’ll ride by?”

“Anthonio from the candle stall on Via Roma said he heard from the city guards that they’ll be leaving sometime after the ninth bell.”

“That’s soon.” Nearly an hour away; Constance now understood the reason for the huge crowds. Indeed the slow trickle formed into a thronging flood as the minutes inched by. Constance stayed with Madame Renee, pleasantly chattering as the swell of humanity grew.

As the ninth bell from the Saint John the Baptist Cathedral came and went city guards made their presence known. They went in between the crowd and started to form the mass, shaping it so there was a pathway cleared that spanned from the west entrance of the square to the east entrance.

Madame Renee tugged on Constance’s arm. “Look Alexis, that’s where the Royals are going to be riding. Oh, I just best Christine Marie is the most beautiful woman alive.”

“Well of course. She is French you know,” Constance couldn’t help adding.

The stall owner shoved Constance playfully. “Yes, I am well aware of your biases.”

A trumpet blast sounded out before Constance could dignify that with a response.

“They’re coming! Look, I think I see the royal carriage!” Madame Renee squealed. Everyone else in the crowd had seen the same thing because the gentle murmurings of the people had now become loud cheers of approval. Even Constance clapped politely as the gold-gilded carriage drew nearer. As it passed Constance and Madame Renee’s position, she caught a fleeting glimpse of an older man, whom she assumed was the current Duke, a younger couple, and a small boy. Then the carriage passed and that small snapshot of time was gone forever.

She turned to watch them go, Madame Renee off to her right side somewhere, squealing even more loudly than before.

The crowd amplified to a fevered pitch that Constance kept assuming was cheering until she saw the explosions off in the distance. A bomb had gone off near the east entrance. It wasn’t a big explosion; Constance did not think anyone had been killed from what she saw, but the confusion it created was enormous. The crowd, now fearful and running for their lives abandoned any nationalistic pride they felt for their leaders. The neat pathway that had been created by the guards was all but gone, submerged by the tide of humanity that ran to the three other exits.

And that’s when the kidnappers made their move.

The carriage had been pinned in place, guards surrounding it. But they were not expecting fifteen armed men to surround them and start a siege. One man went down, then two, three, five, ten. A pathway was made to the door of the carriage and one of men forcibly yanked it open, uncaring about the Duke’s threats. The man reached in with one hand and pulled the young boy, whom Constance assumed with young Louis Amadeus, out and handed off to one of his nearby fellows. Victor Amadeus was ready to jump out after him, shouting curses and threats, but the kidnapper slammed the door the carriage and put a handy wooden pipe in the door handles so Victor had to fumble to open the door.

By the time the door was open, two things were in motion. One, the remaining mobile kidnappers, about eight, had retracted from the carriage and turned to flee. Louis, being only four, was quickly manhandled into an over-the-shoulder carry. And two, Constance sprang into a run. 

Judging their trajectory she veered into the crowd, opposing it as she made her way to the east entrance. It was ingenious really. Set off an explosion near the eastern gate, but make it small enough so that it would only incite panic, not structurally damage any of the buildings. Then, escape through the empty entrance. The guards that had been on crowd patrol were all congregated around the carriage so the kidnappers had a clear shot to the exit.

They made it to the exit before Constance but she gave chase, following them through the narrow streets. The kidnappers got off the main thoroughfares as soon as possible, but that meant they could tell Constance was following them. The last two men took turns at firing shots at her as she bobbed and weaved behind them. Luckily, most of the paths they took were curved so it was difficult for them to get a clear shot in. But Constance also couldn’t fire at them for fear she might hit Louis. A glancing bullet got in a lucky hit and she stumbled as she felt a white hot fire erupt along her chest.

She kept going, but the kidnappers slowly pulled away. They had an insider’s knowledge of the back alleyways of Turin.

“Stop!” She shouted in a last ditch effort to call for help. “Stop! Kidnappers! Someone please!”

She fell to her knees, the bullet wound taking its toll. But she heard from behind her the sound of footsteps. From back down the alleyway came a whole troop of the Duke’s men. All but two rushed past her, following Louis cries as the kidnappers got further and further away.

The two that stayed behind approached her warily. She turned to them abruptly, angrily, “Well, where were you!?! Aren’t you the Duke’s guards? Aren’t you supposed to protect him and his family?”

She knew she was French and an outsider, this should not concern her. And normally it wouldn’t. But a young boy had been involved. A young boy whose only crime was being related to the House of Savoy. And she couldn’t help but picture Alain or Leon every time she heard his wails as she was chasing the kidnappers.

The older soldier helped her up from the ground. “I will ignore that slight only because we are asking ourselves the same thing. Come along. The Duke will want to see you.”

Constance reluctantly followed them back through the winding alleys until they came out at a different location, in front of the Madame Palace.

The guards at the gates let Constance and her escorts pass unhindered. The two men showed her through the opulent luxury and rooms of the highest splendor until they reached what must have been the personal rooms of the Duke and his family. They approached a large closed set of double doors where the older soldier knocked twice.

A muffled “Enter” sounded from behind the doors and the soldier turned the knob and pushed the doors inward, opening them. They revealed a handsome drawing room with two chairs placed opposite a chaise lounge in the middle of the room. Two walls were decorated with floor to ceiling bookshelves and the other two displayed wide bay windows. The final pieces of furniture were a desk and chair in front of one of the windows.

The Duke glanced up from his standing position near the closest window as Constance entered the room. He stared at the obvious youth in narrowed suspicion. Victor Amadeus paid little attention as he sat on the chaise lounge with his wife, holding her as she wept into his arms.

“Well, Captain, have you found my grandchild yet?” He demanded. “And who is this?”

“My Lord,” the elder soldier spoke, “I have an entire squad following the kidnappers through the back alleyways right now. My men will catch up to them any minute now and then we’ll retrieve Louis. This boy here,” he jerked his head at Constance, “we found following the kidnappers. They were shooting at him. We figured he might know something about the attack.”

The Duke growled at the Captain. “Did I or did I not say that I did not want to see you again until you brought back Louis safe and sound to us? No, do not answer that. I do not want a single man to sleep until you recover my grandchild.” The Captain and his subordinate nodded but did not leave. The Duke turned to Constance, “Now boy, what do you have to say for yourself.”

“My name is Alexis Bellamy, your Grace.”

“You’re French,” the Duke pointed out rather needlessly.

“Yes, your Grace. I came to Savoy for traveling purposes. I arrived yesterday. Today I was in the market when your carriage was attacked and noticed that Louis Amadeus had been kidnapped. I tried to give chase but unfortunately I was not fast enough to rescue the boy.”

“Why did you do that?” The Duke asked shrewdly. “Not that I’m not grateful, but you owe me no loyalty.”

“Yes, I know, your Grace. However, Louis Amadeus is the son of both Savoy and France. His mother is technically a princess in France and I would be remiss on my duty as a French citizen if I did not try to help her Highness.”

Christine Marie glanced up from her husband’s shoulder. She looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. The Duke noticed this and nodded in understanding.

“Very well. We thank you for your pains. If there is nothing else, you may leave,” he said this like he expected Constance to leave right then and there. But Constance was not done.

“Actually, I noticed that the kidnappers I saw all had the same tattoo. The tattoo was of a red griffin. Does that mean something to you?”

The Duke and soldiers all stilled.

“No it does not. And it would please me that you would be silent and leave when you are told. Now, Victor, come with me. We must interrogate the city guards.”

The Duke tried to cover his slip up and dismiss her, but Constance knew they knew more than they let on. Everyone else knew too, but Charles Emmanuel I was the Duke so he was in charge. Victor Amadeus gently pried himself away from his wife and kissed her hand in farewell. He left with his father and the two soldiers that had escorted her in. Constance watched them go bitterly.

“I could help you know,” she muttered. “Why don’t you ask the market people or the vendors, huh?” Sarcastically, she asked the seemingly empty room, without expecting an answer.

But an answer came. “Is that what you would do?” 

A hand touched her shoulder softly snapped her out of her anger. 

“Your Highness,” she stammered. Christine Marie had gotten up from the chaise and composed herself without Constance hearing. Now she startled to hear the question. 

“I mean… That is…” Constance stumbled through her reply. “Yes, that’s what I would do. The vendors and stall managers notice and remember more than the nobles think they do.”

“Hmm,” Christine Marie pondered. “You’re right. My foolish husband would never lower himself to ask the common folk.” Then she remembered something. “I’m sorry. I never introduced myself, did I? I am Christine Marie, the Princess of Piedmont. It is a pleasure to meet you Monsieur Bellamy.”

“Oh the pleasure is all mine, Your Highness,” Constance bent her waist, leaning so she was almost level with the Princess’ hand and laid upon the hand a swift kiss.

“Alexis – I may call you Alexis, mightn’t I?”

“Please, by all means, Your Highness.”

“Alexis, what do you think about the men who have my son? What did you notice?”

Constance was about to say she had already reported everything she noticed when something else struck her, “The kidnappers all had an in depth knowledge of the city. When I was chasing them through the back alleyways, they did not take one wrong turn.”

“And why is that important?” It occurred to Constance that the Princess had never been through those winding alleyways and did not know the significance of that.

“Because Princess, have you ever been through a hedge maze?”

“Yes, there was one I went through as a little girl all the time.”

“Then you know that unless you know exactly where you’re going then you’re more likely to end up at a dead-end than you are to an exit. Most of those back alleys lead nowhere. They exist as a method to trick guards, for thieves to evade escape. It is so easy to get lost there; the kidnappers must either be local, have contracted one or two locals or have spent a lot of time doing reconnaissance for them to evade pursuers to easily. If I could talk to Madame Renee I could use her contacts to look for any suspicious activity. That is…” She broke off, remembering that Christine Marie, the Princess of Piedmont and sister to the King of France was standing next to her. 

“Yes, please go on,” Christine Marie smiled a little hopefully. “Please, anything might help.”

“Well, I would start at all the taverns. People say more things when they’re drunk, and even if people don’t normally take drunk-talk seriously, something might slip that someone ought to remember. And then-“ Constance broke off, a sudden fire making itself known in her chest. She gasped and pressed her hand to her skin below her breast. It, and her shirt, came away bloodied.

“Damn,” she muttered, remembering the gunshot that skimmed her side.

“What?” Christine Marie demanded. Constance reluctantly showed her the blood-stained palm and shirt.

“I was hit by a stray bullet. Worse than I thought too, but I can bandage it and I will be fine.”

“You most certainly will not!” Christine Marie demanded. “My personal physician has rooms in the Palace and he can treat you.”

The Princess tried to pull Constance through the doorway, but Constance resisted, suddenly remembering that she wasn’t actually a man. That little thought often escaped her mind because she had, after a year of being a man, gotten used to being treated as an equal by most people. As a woman that equality would go away. If Christine Marie found out Constance was a woman that Constance might even be jailed or at the very least barred from trying to help find Louis.

“Your Highness, please no. I couldn’t impose. I will be fine.” Constance tried to stop her once again, but the pain in her chest made her weak. She couldn’t stop Christine Marie from leading her out the door and through various corridors and down two flights of stairs to an obviously plainer section of the Palace. This section was probably the working professionals wing. It wasn’t as bad as the servants quarters but it wasn’t anywhere near as opulent as the Duke’s wing.

“Your Highness,” she tried once more as Christine Marie went to open the door. “Its just… There are some private things that… Well, I mean-“

“You mean that you’re female,” Christine Marie interjected. “I know. Don’t worry. My physician is very discreet.”

Leaving a flabbergasted Constance in her wake, Christine Marie opened the door and led the way outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fact time:  
> First, Christine Marie was the sister to King Louis XIII and yes, she did marry Victor Amadeus in 1619. I am assuming Victor Amadeus is the Duke in episode 4 because of these facts. Secondly, the canon on the episode does not line up with history. In 1630, the Duke and Duchess of Savoy did not have any children that would match the age that the boy was in the episode. I'm estimating the boy's age in the episode to be about seven. Unfortunately, Louis Amadeus, though he was born in 1622, died in 1628. Thus, I (and the show) are manipulating history and therefore Louis Amadeus did not die and so he is the boy in the episode. 
> 
> Also, all my information came from Wikipedia, so it may or may not be historically accurate.


	7. The Search for an Heir

“One last one…. And there, that should do it,” Monsieur Raoul Nix announced as he finished the final stitch on Constance’s chest.

The shot, while painful, had luckily only grazed Constance and so was easy enough for Monsieur Raoul. Constance was still in a state of shock that the Princess had figured out her secret so easily and had not paid much attention to the physician when she just met him.

Now that the pain was down to a dull throb Constance looked at greater detail at her helper. Monsieur Nix was an older man, nearly forty five, with kind eyes and a body built like a knight. He had large hands, but his fingers moved with a deftness that belied his experience with a needle. He looked like the kind of man who would smile easy, but he only showed sadness, comforting the Princess when she came in.

Raoul turned back to his patient. “I’ll send for a large bowl of water so that way you can wipe away the blood. Do you have any clean shirts you can wear?”

Constance's shirt was all but useless, the blood stains becoming more rampant that it looked like the whole left side of her shirt was a ruddy brown to begin with.

“No, Monsieur, I’m afraid not. All my things are still with my friend at San Carlo Square.”

“I can give you one of my gowns. I have many of them and the more plain ones shouldn’t drawn too much attention if you wear it in the market. Plus, this way you can pass as my attendant for the rest of the day. All my other attendants left for Rivoli yesterday in preparation of our journey there today, Now I’m afraid I’m quite useless by myself,” she said this last bit with a wobbling lip, no doubt trying not to l think about her four year old so, currently in the hand of kidnappers.

“Do not worry, Your Highness, I know I am a woman as well, but I will go to whatever lengths to return Louis to you,” Constance tried to comfort the Royal.

“I know you will, Alexis. Merci,” Christine Marie replied. She dabbed her watery eyes with a space handkerchief. A servant that Monsieur Nix had previously called knocked at the door and both the Princess and physician called out for her to enter.

\-----

Thirty minutes later Constance was dressed in a light pink silk dress. The cut and fabric of the dress was much fancier than Constance was used to but at the very least Christine Marie was right. It might make her look like the wife of a rich merchant but she wouldn’t stand out as much as she had feared. Her wound was severely bandaged and had stopped bleeding fifteen minutes ago so the dress would not be ruined by stray blood.

Constance followed the Princess out of the physician’s chambers, stopping to offer him a kiss on the cheek in thanks on the way out.

“Merci, Monsieur Nix,” Constance murmured.

“No thanks necessary, my dear girl. And do stop by later, once this is all resolved. I would love to hear what makes a charming young girl such as you turn into a roving adventurer,” he winked at her and she blushed.

“Merci as well, Raoul,” Christine Marie added.

“I am always happy to serve Your Highness,” Monsieur Nix bowed his head as the two women left.

Princess Christine Marie swept down the corridor, leading the way back up to her quarters. As servants passed her in the halls they stopped whatever they were doing and bowed to her. Constance wasn’t exactly sure what to do, so she just tried to look demure and sedate as she followed behind. No one batted an eye at her so she figured the obvious luxury of the dress made up for how bad her hair and lack of make-up must look.

The two woman proudly glided into Christine Marie’s personal drawing room. It was smaller than her father-in-law’s drawing room, but more widely decorated. There were a couple more elegant chairs and several elegant landscape paintings. The Princess gestured to one of the chairs graciously and Constance gingerly sat down. Christine Marie sat herself down across from Constance with a heavy intensity.

“Now, tell me exactly what you’re going to do to get my son back.”

Constance outlined her plan tacitly and the Princess nodded in approval.

“Very good. You will keep me informed?” As if there was any chance of excluding the royal. Christine Marie would not allow herself to be uninvolved. 

“Absolutely. Is there any way I might be able to provide Your Highness with updates?”

“Yes. I have a personal maid who has a sister in the kitchens. Give all the information to her; her name is Prudence. She will see the message is delivered. If you need to see me in person, send word and wear this dress that I gave you. I will tell the guards that you are to be let in on the day you state.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And here-“ Christine Marie rummaged in her desk and handed Constance a purse, “-take this. Think of it as contractor’s fee. I want you to spend all your efforts on trying to find Louis.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Constance reluctantly took the purse. She would be more than happy to find Louis Amadeus without being paid, but it would make life easier. She did not have a lot of funds left so this would help her put off being a seamstress for at least a couple months. She could also use it as bribes if she needed information.

“Excellent. I expect good things from you Alexis. Restore my son to me,” Christine Marie ordered.

“I will, Your Highness.”

The moment stood still. Christine Marie was definitely a Royal. She had a presence, a responsibility about her that Constance couldn’t help but respect. The Princess knew the duty of her position but would not sacrifice her son for the societal expectation that she would sit back and do nothing. A mother would do anything for their son and Christine Marie was doing the one thing that she could: contracting Constance to bring a new perspective to the problem. Both woman hoped that Constance’s new perspective as a traveler, as a woman, and as part of the common class, could help get Louis Amadeus back.

\-----

Constance left the Palace still wearing the Princess’s dress so the first thing she did was track down a clothing stall. She bought two new suits, one significantly more high quality than the kind she normally bought. But she never knew when she might need to blend in to a higher class than she was used to. Then she changed into one of the suits in an isolated alcove. 

Then she found Madame Renee who was still at her soap stall in San Carlo Square.

“Alexis!” Madame Renee gasped. “I was so worried! You just ran off after the kidnappers; I wasn’t sure if you had been killed or not.”

“Je suis desole,” Constance comforted. “I lost them,” she clenched her fists in furious rememberings. “They escaped through the back alleys and one of them got a lucky shot. The Duke’s men caught up to me and two of them took me to the Palace. Duke Charles wanted to know if I knew anything about the kidnappers. I just told him I saw they all had a griffon tattoo on their necks and then he sent me away. The Princess though noticed I was hurt and had my wound treated. Then she contracted me to help look for Louis Amadeus.”

Madame Renee looked flabbergasted for a whole minute. Her mouth kept opening and closing silently so Constance slyly pointed out, “You’re going to catch flies if you keep doing that.”

Madame Renee snapped her mouth closed but then exploded outwards like a supernova with energy.

“Oh Alexis! You were shot! Where? Are you okay? You talked to Her Highness yourself? Is she as beautiful as everyone says? I’ve heard that she’s so pretty that every courtier in the palace is halfway in love with her, male or female. What about the Duke? Is he as terrifying as everyone says? And the Princess contracted you to find her son? That is so exciting-“  
“Yes it is. But Madame Renee, you have to keep this quiet. You cannot tell anyone,” Constance interrupted. She glanced around the square for effect, to emphasize that anyone could be watching at any time.

Madame Renee nodded in understanding.

“Of course,” the stall keeper said in a mockery of a hushed whisper. “You can count on me.”

“Good,” Constance said definitively. “Because I need you to be my eyes and ears inside the market. You know everyone and you see everything. Louis Amadeus is only four years   
old. Who knows what those criminals want with him. We have to get him back as soon as possible.”

Madame Renee made a low noise of empathy. “Absolutely. Poor Princess Christine. Why if my boys – well, they’re grown now – but if they had been taken, who knows what I would have done.”

“Exactly. Which is why I need you to tell me anything you know about the griffin tattoo. And what the Duke’s men have been doing.”

Madame Renee pondered question and then a look of consideration crossed her face. “I think I just might. About fifteen or so years ago, there was something that happened with the third son of Duke Charles. His name was Emanuel Filibert. I’m trying to remember what exactly happened.”

Constance tried not to pry but after over a minute of silence, she probed with a question. 

“What is Emanuel Filibert doing now?”

Madame Renee’s face lighted up again. “Oh Constance, you’ll never guess. I heard from Sophie, who’s a maid at the palace, that Emanuel has sworn loyalty to King Philip III of Spain! Can you believe it? What must the Duke think of that?”

“But why would he do that?”

“Paul, from the vegetable stand up the road, thinks he did it to get back at the Duke for declaring Victor Amadeus as heir to the Duchy. Emanuel wanted to be the Duke next, Paul said. Paul thinks he did it because he thought he could get more power from Spain.”

“Were people upset about it?” 

“Oh sure. But darling, you don’t think anyone would kidnap a child over it?”

“I’m not sure what I think. But it might be connected. And all the men involved in this had that very distinctive griffin tattoo. If only we could pinpoint where that it from we might be able to find a connection.”

Madame Renee gasped loudly, her hand covering her mouth. “Alexis, I just remembered. I have some family in a small town near the northwest border and Odette, my cousin, said that a while back some troublemakers were coming around and causing problems to the Duke’s men in the area. She said they all had griffin tattoos.”

“What did she say about them?”

“Apparently her husband, Gus, was in the army at that time and they were called in to deal with them. She said that he said that these men were part of a group that thought the third son would make a better Duke than the second. I just can’t believe that though. Victor has been training for years under his father, and what insights can a spaniard give?” She asked the last question with distaste, now qualifying Emanuel as Spanish because he swore loyalty to the King of Spain. 

“Did she tell you what the group was called?”

“I think it was Griffin something. Crimson or red or maybe it was silver. I don’t exactly remember. At that time all I could recall thinking was that the name sounded really, really stupid.”

Constance laughed a little. “I can imagine. They don’t sound too bright. However, if it is the same group they are dangerous.”

“I’ll say. Can you believe they want Emanuel to be Duke. He’d force us all to be Spanish citizens. The nerve! I will never be Spanish!” 

“France wouldn’t be too happy about that either. That must be why they were so eager to marry Christine Marie to Victor Amadeus.”

“I don’t mind the French,” Madame Renee continued, only halfway paying attention to the conversation. She was more concerned about giving her opinion. “But I hate the Spanish.”

“But why kidnap Louis Amadeus?” Constance wondered aloud. She was still focused on the problem at hand. 

Madame Renee refocused onto the explanation now.

“To make the Duke angry at Victor Amadeus, I’d imagine.”

“What?” Constance did not follow that trail of thought.

“Well, if Louis is gone, the Duke won’t be too happy. And if there’s no heir to Victor, the Duke would have to rethink naming Victor as his heir. I hope he doesn’t though. Victor Amadeus seems so kind when he’s with his wife.”

“What does Spain think of all this?”

“Georg, over on cobbler’s row, well, he heard that Spain doesn’t want anything to do with it. I bet they’re just saying that to not make the Duke suspicious. What kind of world do we live in where a man cannot trust his own son. The shame of it.” Madame Renee gesticulated to accentuate her point. 

“They’re Royals, Renee. I’ve given up trying to figure out how their minds work.” Constance said with a shake of her head. 

“What about Victor Amadeus? The Duke and he I think were surprised to hear about the griffin tattoo.”

“That’s probably because nobody had heard from those Griffins for some time. They were really active for the first couple years after Emanuel turned traitor to Spain but after that Odette stopped talking about them.”

“Really active,” Constance repeated. “How violent were they?”

“Oh, very violent. Every other week Odette would be telling me of their latest spat with the soldiers. She was really worried for her husband, you see. I can’t imagine my husband going off into war. Thank goodness he’s already dead so I don’t have to worry about him.”

Constance ignored the last bit. “So why did they go away all of a sudden?” 

Madame Renee couldn’t answer that question. “I don’t know, Alexis.”

“So something happened,” Constance carried on that trail of thought. “Something happened and they went underground, hard and fast. But now they resurface, years later. Why did they resurface now and why did they kidnap the heir apparent?” Left unspoken was that Louis Amadeus was next in line to inherit after his father. If for some reason both the current Duke Charles Emmanuel and Victor Amadeus died in a freakish accident tomorrow, Louis Amadeus would stand as the next Duke. Constance had a thought. “If Victor Amadeus did not have a son, who would the Duchy pass to?”

“Emanuel Filibert,” Madame Renee answered, “and those dirty Spanish pigs.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Constance said. “But there’s something we’re missing, I just know it.”

\------

But the day was slipping away from Constance so she decided to leave that line of questioning alone for now. Instead she tried to get a jump on where the Red Griffin and Louis Amadeus were now. Madame Renee was able to provide the goings on of the Duke’s men, which helped some. Apparently right after the boy had been taken, the guards closed the entire district down. The center of Turin had been blocked off and everyone entering and exiting were being searched. Carts and Wagons were heavily scrutinized before being let pass. Constance took this as further evidence that the kidnappers were local.

“ _They must still be in the Palace district,_ ” Constance wrote to Christine Marie in her first message. Two weeks with Sister Joelle and a summer of lazy evenings had done wonders for her reading and writing abilities. She was now fluent enough in both French and Latin to write to a princess and not make of fool of herself.

Two days had passed since the kidnapping and Constance was working on a reconnaissance of all the taverns. The first thing she did after ending the information briefing with Madame Renee was to collect Elba and find a more permanent housing solution. She eventually took up residency at a boarding house that rented by the week. Constance paid for two weeks, though she hoped to find the young boy far before then.

_“Everyone I’ve spoken to has seen neither hide nor hair of them. That means that either they escaped before the blockade was enacted or they’re lying low. Because they had such an in-depth knowledge of the city, my money is on them having several burrows or dens spread throughout the district that they’re currently occupying. At the moment I’m trying to ferret out all their dens and which one Louis is in._ ”

Later she dropped the letter off at the Palace with instructions to give it to the maid Prudence.

The Duke’s men had also gone door to door through the entire district, asking for information. The tips that that venture had generated were keeping the guards busy, but Constance was afraid they were searching for a needle in a haystack. For every piece of information the guards got that was true, there were seven more tidbits that were false. The problem with the guards’ way of doing it was that they would spend needless time going through the overload of information.

Constance was doing her searching in a different method. As she had told Christine Marie, taverns and bars were usually where you would find the best information. She’d noticed this on the road. Whenever she stopped for the night at an Inn, normally the locals, when plied with alcohol, were more than willing to tell you the best routes to travel or what roads had bandits on them.

Thankfully she did not have to watch all the taverns by herself. Madame Renee’s veritable wealth of connections came in handy. Passing around the story that a man with a griffin tattoo had left her sister when she was with child to be with another woman, Constance made a name for herself as “that boy with the sister”. This gave her reason for chasing after men with griffin tattoos. And most people were like Madame Renee in that they did not remember the Red Griffins that much. So she was able to ask questions and take offense because it seemed like she had a personal stake in finding this man with a griffin tattoo. And she used the most broad terms when she described him, so as to hopefully get all the men that would match that description.

Most tavern patrons were happy to give her the information once they were told what it was for. She came across as a brash youth with a need to defend her sister’s honor and she made it clear that she was planning on challenging every man she came across with that tattoo. People loved entertainment and this cocky, brash youth who didn’t know anything of the wide world would provide a good show once he started a fight.

Madame Renee’s connections were able to hunt down people matching the descriptions in several bars along the riverfront. So the next night Constance spent a couple hours at each to question the regulars and tavern owners. She also sent her next missive off to the Princess.

Even then most of the information she got was a bust. Except one. At an Inn called the Black Sail, Constance nonchalantly took a seat in a shadowy corner and ordered tumbler of brandy to fit in. She then spent the next hour complaining drunkenly to anyone that would listen about the man with a griffin tattoo. No one said anything but she saw the furtive glances one of her neighbors shot at the barman.

Just when she thought it would be a bust, the door opened. In walked her target. The man she’d seen who was the leaders of the kidnappers entered with two of his goons. He aimed straight to Constance and towered over her.

“What this I hear you been talking shit about me?” He growled

“You bet yer ass I been talkin shit ‘bout you!” Constance yelled in her best drunken accent. “You left me sister and her kid to rot, ya cock-sucking son of a donkey!”

“What did yeh say to me?” The big man asked, dangerously quiet. Constance knew this would end badly for her, but she had to avoid suspicion.

“What, are ye deaf or somefin’?” Constance sarcastically asked.

“Tha’s it, pretty boy. You been asking for this.” He launched a hard punch to Constance’s face. Constance rolled with it, tilting her head back just so to instead of hitting her nose, the punch landed a glancing blow on her cheek. She still went down hard though, pretending to stumble while pulling herself up.

“Oh yeah, why don’t we take this outside? I’ll show ye!” She yelled at him.

The tavern owner seemed to jump in at that moment, in total agreement with Constance, though for a different reason. Constance wanted to move this outside so that way she could follow them easier when they were finished. The owner just wanted them out so they wouldn’t damage his furniture.

The big man growled reluctantly in agreement.

Constance swayed drunkenly for the door, purposefully knocking into as many tables and chairs as possible.

She got to the road between the Inn and the riverfront and turned to enact a fighting stance. She made sure to still sway.

“Come on, fight me,” she yelled at the big man who had followed her out.

He apparently thought the fight would be easy and sweet and shared a look to that effect with his fellows.

“Ye asked for it, pretty boy.”

He came after her hard and fast. It was all she could do to roll with the blows and dodge as many as possible. Even with her previous strategy of turning her body to make them glancing blows, she still got pummeled. But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Five minutes later the man got tired of repetitive kicks of her stomach (most of which she tried to catch with arms to reduce the shock to her sensitive kidney or other internal organs). He spat on her once and motioned to his friends that he was done with the foolish boy.

Constance waited for them to turn the corner. Then she was up and sprinting as fast as her body would allow, eager to follow the men to their hideout and hopefully Louis Amadeus.


	8. Rescues and Plots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delays.

Constance waited for them to turn the corner. Then she was up and sprinting as fast as her body would allow. Everything was ginger and sore, but nothing was broken thankfully. She was able to follow the sound of their raucous laughter along the river for approximately ten minutes. Then they turned right and left the actual road and jumped down to the river bank. A few seconds later Constance did the same thing, as loudly as she dared. The gentle waves of the river as it hit the bank covered up most of the sound of her boots landing and clouds obscured the moon so the light was minimal.

The men kept walking for another hundred yards before sharply turning toward the road. They didn’t go up; instead they entered a man sized entrance to the sewers. 

Constance cursed under her breath. If the sewers in Turin were anything like the ones in Paris then she was screwed. They could go on for miles and have multiple exits. It would also be hard for her to follow the men because there wouldn’t be any good hiding places.

She couldn’t turn back now though. Louis Amadeus and his mother were counting on her.

With a determined huff, Constance hurled herself into the sewage tunnel. She quickly followed the reverberating sounds of the men’s footfalls, careful not to be distracted by phantom whispers among the walls.

She followed the men through several darkened passages. The passages began to lighten noticeably, so Constance was not surprised when torches started appearing on the walls. Careful to keep track of the turns they took, the men continued on for three more left turns before Constance heard the murmurings of voices up ahead. She slowed until she was tip-toeing behind them. Around the next corner the main man spoke, “Yann! Ruben! Either of ye want to tell me why some snot nosed brat knew about me?”

The three men turned the corner and Constance stopped before she followed them. She peered around, into where the corridor opened up into large hollow chamber. The chamber marked the intersection to four separate passages. Camped inside were almost thirty men. Cots and clothes covered almost every available surface and there was a disconcerting smell in the chamber that Constance did not want to know the source of.

“Aw, fuck off Teo. It’s not me fault.” One of the men, a rat faced, small eyed, slim man in faded clothes, complained.

“Ye fuck off, Yann. ‘e was following me cuz apparently I done somethin’ to ‘is sister.”

“Didn’t you?” Another man chimed in with a laugh and a crude gesture that left nothing to the imagination.

“Course not, Ruben. I would ‘ave remembered if I had banged meself a wench lately. But I ‘aven’t, and this bastard knew ‘xactly where to find me. We should move.” Teo smacked a large, broad shouldered, blonde.

“Hell no,” the blonde, Ruben, replied. “We just got settled. That kid’s finally quiet. If we move ‘gain, he’ll start screaming again.”

“So?”

“So, we can’t keep moving. Oro said they’re still searching above ground. In the sewers we’re safe; Eryn steers the city guards in another direction if they get a tip here. If we move, it’ll be easier for them to catch us.”

“Shud’up Ruben. Oro ain’t nobody’s boss here.”

Ruben didn’t speak again, but Constance sensed that he was just biding his time. 

She had the information that she needed. Louis Amadeus was being held down in these catacombs. She dared not find the exact location for fear of being spotted and it would be suicide to call attention to herself now. Instead she slipped back down the way she came in as swiftly as she dared. After a couple wrong turns she made it to the surface. It was already way past midnight; off in the distance she heard the faint chime of the third bell. Nevertheless she did not let that deter her as she made her way back to the Palace.

By the time the fourth bell had rung Constance sent a missive to Princess Christine through Prudence via one of the early rising kitchen bakers. Hopefully Christine Marie would get it as soon as possible.

About a half an hour after the sixth bell, a messenger came the guards standing at the gate. He spoke frantically to them, all but shoving an official looking document under their noses before gesturing Constance over and through the doors. She assumed this meant that Princess Christine had gotten the message.

She was proven correct when several minutes later she was shown to the Princess’ drawing room. The Princess herself was frantically pacing the length of the room, wringing her hands in a habitual manner. As soon as the door shut behind her, Christine Marie rushed over.

“You found him? Did you see him? How is he?”

It had been a week since her son had been kidnapped and Christine Marie looked like she was falling apart at the seams. Not that Constance blamed her. Every mother she had met would do the same thing, and Constance herself would have reacted the same if Leon or Alain had gone missing.

“I think I found him, Your Highness. I did not see him specifically but I followed one of the men with the griffin tattoo into the sewers and they have a base set up in the catacombs. From what I was able to overhear they have been moving around and they just settled there so they shouldn’t be moving for a couple days. I also have some troubling news about the search.”

Christine Marie breathed a small sigh of relief when Constance said she found the hideout. But she tensed at the last statement.

“What is it?”

“I think there is a spy in the city guard contingency.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“Because, Your Highness, when I was eavesdropping, the main man said that a man named Eryn was steering the guards away from their hideouts. That makes me think either there is a false tipster, or they have someone on the inside who is purposely screening the tips before they get passed out.”

“There’s a spy,” Christine Marie hissed

“Yes, I believe so.” It ground Constance’s nerve that a spy had managed to infiltrate the Duke of Savoy’s service. Though she herself felt no loyalty to Charles Emmanuel I or Victor Amadeus, she did want desperately to help Christine Marie, both as a fellow woman and as the sister to her king.

The Princess thought about this for a little while. “Very well. I will request my husband not involve the city guards. Our next step is to rescue my son. Naturally, you cannot go alone.”

Constance shared a chagrin smile with the Princess. “I had thought about it, Your Highness, but after one smack down with one of the kidnappers, I figured digression is the better part of valour.”

“Yes, I noticed your latest bruises,” Christine Marie gestured to the bruises already blossoming on Constance’s face. “I am sure there is quite a story to behold there. However that will have to wait. I do not think involving my father-in-law is the wisest option. Given his reaction to you the last time, he will dismiss you. But,” Christine Marie continued, overruling Constance’s worried frown. “I think I can get my husband to listen. He knows better than to dismiss someone based on their age or appearance.”

She again cast an eye towards Constance. This time Constance blushed. Because she had come straight to the Palace from the sewers and before that the fight in the muddy alley, her whole body was caked in mud and there was a foul smell around her. Her hair, though always in its constant braid, was barely disconcernable over its layer of mud.

“I-“ Constance started to make a apologies.

“Never mind that now,” Christine Marie interrupted. “My husband will forgive if you help him find his son.”

Constance nodded.

Christine Marie opened the door and grabbed the first servant that passed by.

“Please, would you ask my husband to come see me at once? Tell him it is urgent.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man murmured with a bow.

He turned and left and Christine Marie’s attention went back to Constance.

“Here, I have some water in my bathroom. Why don’t you clean up quickly?”

Constance smiled gratefully. “Thank you so much, Your Highness.”

Five minutes later, Constance was able to clean most of the mud from her face, hair, and hands. Her tunic was still stain but Constance passed the rest of it off as a bad job. Just in time too, because as she rejoined the Princess in her drawing room the door burst open and Victor Amadeus entered the room.

“Christine,” he greeted his wife, but then stopped as he saw Constance.

“Darling,” Christine Marie said pleasantly. “I’m sure you remember Monsieur Alexis Bellamy.”

Constance offered a slight nod of her head. It wasn’t as big as it should have been, but he wasn’t her ruler. Victor Amadeus, the Prince of Piedmont, offered a nod in return.

“Yes, I remember him. He was the one who tried to help us find Louis,” the Prince said grudgingly.

“He was and he has also found our son,” Christine Marie said pleasantly.

Victor Amadeus glanced sharply at his wife and her knife-edged smile. He chuckled. “What did you do, dearest Christine?”

“I simply asked for another perspective.”

They stared at each other and then both broke out into grins and suddenly Constance was very scared of their relationship.

The moment broke and Victor Amadeus turned back to Constance. “Bellamy, where is my son?”

Constance decided to come back to the fact that the Prince called Constance by her name – even if it was an alias – as opposed to “boy” like his father had. 

“He and thirty of the group that took him are in a chamber in the sewer tunnels, formed by the intersection of four separate tunnels. There is an entrance on the north side of the river, near the port. I do not know exactly where Louis Amadeus is in the tunnel system, but I know he’s there.”

The Prince growled. “That’s not satisfactory, Bellamy.”

“I apologize, Your Highness, but I could not adequately explore the tunnels because of the thirty or so men and the leader who had already encountered me and thought I was lying in a gutter somewhere,” Constance spoke softly, but with a backbone of steel. She met the Prince head on, carrying her will with an honest intensity. She would not allow this Royal to cow her, she had more respect for herself than that.

Victor Amadeus held her gaze for a couple moments more. Then he stiffly nodded. “Very well. You will lead my men and I through the tunnels to their hideout.”

Constance stood firm. “Might I suggest, Your Highness, that you take a more subtle approach.”

The Prince looked about the yell again but Constance kept talking. “Though I only know of the tunnel that leads out to the river, the chamber does have three other entrances. Why not do a little research and then have men enter from all four entrances. This will hopefully prevent any of the men from escaping, and you will catch them completely by surprise.”

Victor Amadeus paused reluctantly. He could see the wisdom in the boy’s argument, but his pride wouldn’t let him admit it.

“Pride goeth before fall, darling,” his wife murmured to him with a smile.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he whispered back.

She smiled secretly and he sighed in defeat.

“Alright, you’ve made your case, Bellamy. I’ll put my men on finding a way to navigate the passages. We’ll launch the attack tonight. Don’t go anywhere; you need to tell my men where the chamber is.”

With that he took his leave, sweeping out of the room with much the same regality that his wife displayed on the day Constance first met her.

“Well, I think that went rather well,” Christine Marie expressed cheerfully after the door slammed shut.

Constance on the other hand, let out the breath that she did not know she had been holding.

\-----

The rest of the day was filled with plots and preparations. Christine Marie quickly called in a battle line of servants to lead Constance to a guest room off the Royal wing. It was luxurious to the extreme and Constance had a feeling that this was meant to house visiting ambassadors or Lords from other Duchies and counties; she felt very out of place in the room, but tried to let that not both her.

After the maids finished setting up the bath, Constance shooed them out with a firm hand. She made them promise not to come in; she was still acting under the pretense of being a 17 year old boy name Alexis Bellamy. Besides the Princess, nobody knew she was a woman and she didn’t want the servants to find out and gossip.

She made sure the door was closed securely. Unfortunately there wasn’t a lock so she had to remember to keep an ear out in case a quiet servant entered.

The bath was calling to her though. Even with a quick wash, she could feel the grime against her skin. Quickly she shed the dirty clothes, unwrapped her chest and hopped into the warm water.

The water turned brown fairly soon after she started scrubbing but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It felt like forever since she last had a bath. Even at her own home baths were rare. Rivers and lakes had been her only source of cleanliness for the past almost half a year, so this was a whole new almost religious experience.

Constance sighed again, relaxing in the warm water. Her mind would not shut off however. Thoughts moved like swift wolves around her head, circling the problem but not attacking it yet. She finally called a halt to trying to relax. She needed to get up and help with the search for Louis Amadeus. She could relax after what completing needed to be done and then her mind would finally quiet.

Constance spied a towel hanging on a nearby changing screen.She grasped it and wrapped around herself twice. Her wet hair, reaching midway down her back, dripped water down onto the floor.

“I see that your wound is almost healed,” a voice called out from the doorway.

Constance yelped loudly and spun around in surprise. Princess Christine Marie stood in doorway to the suite, a fresh suit of clothes in her hands.

“I caught one of the maids about to enter the room. I thought, under the circumstances, I should be the one to give you these.” She handed the clothes and some bandages over to Constance. Constance took them and slipped behind the dressing screen to change; because as comfortable as you were in a Royals presence, there were some lines that you did not cross and that included being naked in front of them.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“It was not a problem.”

A few minutes Constance emerged from behind the screen in clothes far nicer than she was used to. Like the dress that Christine Marie had given her, this suit was made of expensive fabric and the craftsmanship was unbelievable. The dark blue silk that it was made with must have cost a fortune alone.

“This suit was supposed to be a present for my brother, but unfortunately the Duke of Buckingham got to him first. Louis is now convinced that blue, whatever the shade, is completely unfashionable.” She broke off to give a small sigh. “As much as I love my brother, sometimes he can be a complete idiot.”

Constance, who had only heard about the king as one hears about a famous opera star, did not dignify that last remark with a response.

“Really, I couldn’t, Your Highness. This suit is too rich for me.” She plucked helplessly at the luxurious fabric.

“Nonsense. If you’ll believe it, this is actually quite solemn for what my brother is known to wearing. Think of it as a bonus for the good work you have put in thus far.” Having learned that it was difficult to argue with Christine Marie, Constance agreed.

The suit was actually quite handsome and Constance could see how it would not be flamboyant enough for the King of France. One of the constant comments she kept hearing about her king was that he was ridiculously obsessive about keeping up with the latest fashion. This suit, while not at all unfashionable, was created in the classic, understated simplicity that she favored. The tunic was a dark blue with silver embroidery and the pants were leather and hugged her legs. She slipped on the knee high boots and her belt and weapons after she finished adjusting the tunic in the mirror. For the finishing touch, she carefully took all her hair and tied it up with a damp leather strap. The leather would eventually dry and shrink, keeping her hair out of her face for as long as she desired. 

“Perfect,” the Princess said as Constance presented herself for inspection. “Why, if I did not already know, I would have never taken you for a woman, just a really pretty boy.”

Constance cringed at the mention of her true gender. “If you do not mind, Your Highness, would you please tell me how you knew I wasn’t really a man?”

The Princess smiled secretively. “But my dear Alexis, a secret makes a woman, woman.”

“I beg your pardon?” Constance was not at all sure how to respond to that.

“Oh, that’s something I learned quite a long time ago. It’s nothing. But as for your secret, I’ll tell you one day. Is it so urgent?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I would appreciate knowing so that way I may be better aware of my flaws and prevent anyone else from finding out.”

Christine Marie turned serious. “But what if someone did find out? Alexis, nobody would be very happy. You could be imprisoned or even killed. People do no not like women who speak out of turn.”

Constance was well aware of these facts. “I know, but I can’t stop now. It’s only been a year but I cannot go back to what my life was like. Now that I’ve tasted this bit of freedom, I think I’d prefer death to being locked up again, metaphorically or otherwise.”

Christine Marie did not look happy but she accepted the answer reluctantly. Then she seemed to gather herself.

“Come, there is still much to be done. Our job is not done yet. You must help my husband find our son.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Constance agreed with a gentle smile and deep bow.

\-----

After a quick pit stop at the kitchens for something to eat (Constance was starving; she had barely eaten the night before), the Princess showed Constance to a part of the Palace that she had not seen yet. This section was obviously intended for more military purposes. It was near the training grounds and the stables for the Duke’s personal guards.

The Prince had his own contingency of personal soldiers. From what Constance had been able to deduce, both from gossip and from observation, there were four groups involved in the search for Louis Amadeus. The city guards were the lowest on the totem pole (but not always the most unimportant as Constance had seen first hand what damage a spy does in the wrong spot). Next came the army. These were both common and noble men. The nobles generally held the positions of importance like general and commander, but it was possible for a very gifted commoner to rise up through the ranks. The Duke had his own set of personal soldiers, separate from the army and tasked with missions from him personally and protecting the Royal family. Victor Amadeus had a contingency much like the Duke’s. These were the men who were being tasked with this raid.

“You are late,” was the Prince’s first remark when Constance was shown into the large conference type room. The Prince, his two commanders, and one other man were standing around a table, looking at a map of Turin’s underground.

“I apologize, Your Highness.” Constance said. She did not try to defend herself, merely accepted that the Prince wasn’t happy and left the window open for him to make a remark of it.

Obviously the Prince did not see the point of arguing because he grunted and turned back to the map, motioning for Constance to come nearer.

“Show us where the entrance to the tunnel system is,” he ordered.

Constance studied the map of the river district carefully. She pointed to a spot ten or so blocks north from the original kidnapping took place.

“Here. I tracked three of the kidnappers from this bar here-“ she gestured to the bar where she got walloped at, “-and I followed them down this street, to this bank area here.”

“Hmm,” Victor Amadeus stared without saying anything at the map. Then he turned to face the one man who was not a commander. “Toulouse, what do you make of it?”

“Your Highness,” the man said while pulling out another map from a stack on a nearby chair. This map was of underground Turin and Constance observed a tunnel marked exactly where she had pointed. “This is the tunnel that the boy mentioned. It does exist and in fact, it is one of the largest and longest tunnels under the city. The kidnappers have an intuitive knowledge of the city in order to be able to navigate their way in those tunnels. The tunnels are ten times more confusing than they alleys above ground.”

Constance had to stop herself from saying ‘I-told-you-so’ with glee. Instead she pinned Victor Amadeus with a hard edged glance. He met it but instead of glaring back, simply nodded in response. 

Her gaze returned to the underground map. With a finger she traced the path that she had taken through the sewer tunnels. Left. Center. Right. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. Left. Her finger stopped at the intersection made by four paths. She tapped the cross point lightly and stepped back as the five other men bend over the map to examine the point.

“This tunnel, from the left, it looks like there is an entrance from Via Roma. With the right path, there’s an entrance from these back alleys here, east of San Carlo Square.” One of the commanders made note.

“Damn, that was near where I was chasing them,” Constance exclaimed.

Victor Amadeus ignored her outburst. “If we split into four squadrons and come in from all four passageways, we can take them by surprise. Paquet, I want you to take a squadron through the left tunnel here. Bonnay, you go through the left. Sarkozi, take this top entrance. I will go through the main tunnel. Everyone understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the four men chorused together. They must have had a lot of practice.

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

They bowed low and left.

Constance did not move from her place near one of the chairs. Victor Amadeus seemed content to ignore her for a moment as he sat at the table and composed a brief letter.

“You’re still here?” He startled her out of a brief reverie.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Constance said blankly. She did not exactly know what to do when faced with this very angry Royal. Christine Marie she could at least somewhat identify  
with. Fierce and fiery, the Princess had bowed to duty and married, whereas Constance had turned tail and ran, as fast and as far away as possible.

Victor Amadeus was an unknown quantity.

“My wife likes you, boy, but I am not so sure. You have made your loyalties clear, so at least that is straight. But let me give you a warning.” He got up from the table and stalked to Constance. He leaned over her, nose against nose.

“Hurt my family and I will kill you.”

Constance did not say anything, just merely nodded in understanding. As much as she did not like what her parents had tried to force her into, she still loved them, and her sister, and all the people she had met thus far. She would do anything to prevent them from getting hurt, just like Victor Amadeus would do anything for his family.

\-----

That night Constance was surprised to learn that she was going on the assault mission. Apparently she had somehow earned the respect of the Prince so when Constance accompanied Princess Christine to the stables to wish the men luck and Victor Amadeus, from his horse, jerked his head at Constance and asked, “Are you coming?”, Constance wasted no time in finding a spare horse and jumping on. The stables belonged to the Prince’s men, so all four squadrons were told to meet there at the third afternoon bell to get their orders. Constance had missed the briefing but she followed Victor Amadeus and his squadrons without that care. After all, she was there for the planning meeting, so she knew what was going on.

After the four squadrons split off in different direction, Victor Amadeus and about ten men split off on the Via Roma. Constance followed them through several narrow blocks until they came out along the riverbank, a couple blocks near the tunnel entrance.

The entire group halted and disembarked, so as to not call attention to them near the tunnel entrance. They crept closer to the tunnel slowly with the Prince in the lead and Constance acting as the caboose.

At the sixth bell, the raid began.

Without a light, Victor Amadeus led them through the passages. Constance had to hand it to him; he must have memorized the entire map of underground Turin. They traveled through the tunnels without hesitation or delay, confident but quiet.

Victor Amadeus and his generals must have the luck of the gods because right when Constance’s group got to the hideout, the other three groups made their presence known as well. Without any signal beyond the sixth bell, the kidnappers were under attack from all four sides. Panic ensued. Victor Amadeus must have given the order for the kidnappers to be taken alive if possible because most of the Prince’s men were knocking out their enemies left and right.

Constance found herself in several sword fights. Thrust, jab, swoop, and repeat. After disarming and knocking out her third opponent, a cry sounded from behind her.

“You!” Teo roared, recognizing the boy who he had seemingly left for dead in an alley the night before. He ran forward, slashing his sword in anger. 

She blocked it quickly and parried it with a thrust aimed at his shoulder. He sidestepped and brought his sword up, nicking her right arm. Constance pulled back, swinging her sword for another pass at the man.

He moved to the left but Constance quickly changed directions with a neat butterfly move, cutting him swiftly across the chest. It wasn’t deep but it would hurt immensely.

Teo roared and speed up, his moves losing precision but gaining power. Constance had been waiting for this to happen. She met one, two, three, four of his passes, muscles screaming as she met blow for blow with his masculine strength. Then, on the fifth lunge, Constance brought her sword up to block him, but at the last moment sidestepped quickly to the right. Teo sailed past her and before he could recover, Constance brought the hilt of her sword down hard on the back of his head.

He crumpled to the ground, like a stone that had been thrown up and then discovered gravity for the first time.

She panted heavily, registering for the first time that the chamber was quiet for the first time. The violent clangs and clatters of metal on metal had petered out when she was fighting, leaving a dense silence in its wake.

Constance looked around the chamber and found most of the Prince’s men were looking at her. She and Reuben had been the only ones left fighting and all eyes had been drawn to the sounds of swordfighting. She received several nods in acknowledgement after her fight was over. 

Victor Amadeus emerged out of a dead end side tunnel. In his arms, wide eyed and teary but overall in good health, was his son. Constance let out a breath to see the boy was okay. Around her, the Prince’s men all bowed low to their leader, acknowledging the boy and the successful rescue mission. Constance did not bow as low as the man’s soldiers, but she did give a deeper bow than she had previously to Duke Charles.

“Well done,” the Prince said in congratulation to his men. Then he met Constance’s eyes and she felt his unspoken gratitude.

Constance smiled in return, a light, carefree smile that lit up her entire face. It was the first time she had done so since her time with the Abelle’s. It felt good to do so.

\-----

“I beg your pardon?”

Constance could not believe her ears.

“I want you to guard my son.”

“That’s what I thought you said the first time, Your Highness,” Constance said faintly.

It was the morning after the successful raid. By the eighth bell, the city guards had been called in to arrest the kidnappers. By all accounts it was a very successful raid. The only injuries were like Constance’s, just small cuts and bruises. All the kidnappers had been arrested, Eryn, the spy in the city guards, had been identified and captured as well. By the ninth bell Louis Amadeus was back in the arms of his tearful mother and Victor Amadeus was briefing his father on the events of the night.

Constance and the rest of the Prince’s men accompanied the Royal as an honor guard back to the Palace before dispersing. She returned the horse she borrowed to the stables and set off at a light jog to reconnect to Madame Renee. After the gossip monger had been apprised of the situation and sworn to secrecy about Constance’s involvement, the tired seventeen year old returned to her lodging house and collapsed into bed.

She was awoken rather rudely by pounding on her door after not enough sleep. Groggily, she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, quickly bandaged her chest, and slipped on a shirt. Her hair was unbound, cascading gently down her back and over her face but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The knocking reached a crescendo when Constance flung open the door.

Standing outside were two of the Prince’s men. She stared at them in befuddlement.

“Can I help you?” She asked and then yawned widely.

“Your presence is requested at the Palace,” one of the men said and handed over a letter.

She opened it and saw it was from Christine Marie.

_Alexis,  
I apologize for the urgency of this summons, but there are urgent matters my husband and I need to discuss with you. Also, please wear the suit I’m sending with the messengers._

“Another one?” Constance murmured in confusion. She looked at the Prince’s men and one of them handed over a bundle she hadn’t noticed before. Gingerly she took it, as if holding a snake that would strike at any moment.

“I wouldn’t worry, kid,” one of the men said in amusement. “She does that.”

“My name is Alexis, not kid – if you please,” Constance said petulantly. “And you mean Christine Marie gives random people clothes often?”

The man that spoke, a densely build, bearded brunette, chuckled at Constance’s ruffled feathers.

“I didn’t mean any offense, kid. It’s just… well, look at you.”

Constance grumbled under her breath. “Yes, I know, I don’t look very intimidating, do I?”

“Your sword skills are plenty intimidating,” the other man spoke. He was a muscled blonde with an easy grin. “They’ll speak against any who would dare besmirch your reputation. That is, if the people of Savoy don’t do it first.”

“Pardon?” Constance wanted to know.

“Didn’t anyone tell you? You’re the hero of the hour. The unknown peasant that swooped in out of nowhere who, like a bloodhound, tracked down the kidnappers and single-handedly delivered them to the Duke. Apparently you’re six foot tall man of muscle that can take out fifty men with his sword and another fifty with his bare hands.”

“Just great,” Constance groaned.

“Think of it this way. No one will connect this-” he motioned to all of her, “-to the rumors.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted,” Constance replied sarcastically. She gazed down at the suit in trepidation. “Well, here’s hoping this one won’t be that bad.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” the brunette man said. “Though the Princess loves clothes and fashion, she’s less flamboyant than her brother. Personally I just thank God that she only has that in common with him. Could you imagine her marriage with Prince Victor if she was as idiotic? No offense,” he glanced at Constance as though suddenly remembering she was still loyal to King Louis XIII.

“I feel as though I should be offended but right now I can’t bring myself to care,” Constance admitted. She was still sleep deprived after being up for nearly 36 hours straight, and then only sleeping for about ten. She felt as though she could yet sleep for days.

“Right,” she yawned again. “You two, get out. I need to change apparently. Then we’ll go.”

She shooed them out with waving hands, making large gestures. They jokingly protested but she pushed them out with a firm shove. Quickly she shut the door, locked it, and slipped out of her old clothes and into the new suit. It was an emerald green affair, snug, with gold trim and embroidery. The pants were a deep brown leather. She slipped the outfit on, carefully combed her hair and braided it, put her boots and belt on, and splashed some water in her face.

Then the Prince’s men led her up to the Palace. She learned that the blonde one’s name was Thaddeus, the brunette one was Alderic, and they had both been soldiers for eight years. They had been personally scouted by the Prince after two years in the regular army, joining his selected regiment six years ago.

She asked them all sorts of questions about Savoy, about its people, culture and geography. It was always useful to know the culturally accepted truths and stereotypes of every place she visited.

Before she knew it she was being led to the same drawing room that she had been shown to on her first encounter with Duke Charles.

The scene however was much different from the first one. Instead of being greeted by Charles Emmanuel, she was enthusiastically hugged by Christine Marie.

“Oh Alexis, how can I ever thank you!”

The hug was short but very powerful and Constance took a couple seconds to get her breath back after it had been knocked out of her.

“You need not thank me, Your Highness,” Constance said with a smile. “I just did what I could to help.”

“Well, if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. We owe you a debt now,” Christine Marie said. She turned to the small child in her husband’s arms.

“Louis, my dear, this is one the people who helped find you. His name is Alexis Bellamy. Say hello.”

The boy, brunette and mahogany eyed, stared up at Constance.

“Bonjour,” he said in a small voice.

“Bonjour, my Lord,” Constance bent her knees so she was lower than the child. Gently, she took his offered hand it shook it.

“You helped my papa rescue me?” He asked.

“Oui. I helped them find you.”

“You did?”

“Oui. But your father would have done it too. He was tearing the whole country apart for you. You should be glad I found you before he tore the street apart to get to you. Can you image to street with a big hole in it? Everyone would fall in.”

Louis giggled and Constance counted that as a wind. Louis’ father did too, because she saw Victor nod at her in gratitude next to Louis. Victor and Christine mentally communicated somehow and Christine reached her hand out of Louis.

“Come now, my son. Let us go take a walk around the garden. Your father has some business to discuss with Alexis.”

Mother and son walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind them.

“We are going out of Turin tomorrow morning, except this time we will go before sunrise so as not to be caught in the same situation. I will not allow this to happen again.” The Prince clenched his hands into fists, glaring of into the distance.

“What have you discovered about the kidnappers?” Constance knew she shouldn’t be involved anymore. Louis Amadeus had been successfully returned to his mother and the kidnappers were behind bars. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not over; from Victor Amadeus’ expression, he couldn’t either.

“Not much. They were mercenaries, all paid to receive the tattoo and kidnap my son.”

“I’m assuming they don’t know who paid them?”

“No. They were paid through middlemen. Whoever orchestrated this is smart, very smart. I do not like this. I’ve talked it over with the Duke and we both have decided to spread the rumor that we are going to Rivoli, but in reality are going to Pollenza.”

“And if anyone tries a strike again Rivoli, you can trap them.” Constance finished the thought, seeing the brilliance of it.

“Exactly, but I am still worried about my son. This experience has made it perfectly clear that he is vulnerable. Thus I need he protected.”

“Oui, at least until he can help protect himself,” Constance said, thinking of her begging Fabrice for swordsmanship lessons so she could protect herself.

Victor Amadeus stared at her. He did not say anything, merely looked at her with an even, knowing expression.

“What?” She asked dumbly.

“Louis needs to be protected. I want you to protect him.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Constance could not believe her ears.

“I want you to guard my son.”

“That’s what I thought you said the first time, Your Highness,” Constance said faintly. “But why me? Surely there are other more competent, more loyal soldiers?” She said the last adjective to remind him that she was not one of his subjects. She was French and had only helped Christine Marie because a child had been involved and Christine Marie was King Louis XIII’s sister.

“I need time to properly screen my men. This situation has made it abundantly clear that there are spies everywhere. So until I can find completely trustworthy and competent men, I need someone who is reliable. You I can rely on because I know what your motivation is. I cannot trust you to guard myself or my interests, but I can trust that you will protect my wife and my son.”

Constance had to admit the wisdom in that assessment. But she still felt uncomfortable in this position. She was a girl, for heaven’s sake! Sure she wanted to go on adventures, but protecting the future Duke of Savoy was not what she had in mind.

She hesitated in answering so the Prince spoke again.

“Do not test me, boy.”

Constance forced herself to make a decision. “Very well. I will do it. But I will only stay until this matter has been resolved and you track down the people behind Louis Amadeus’ kidnapping. After that, all bets are off.”

“We have an accord.” The Prince smiled a shark-like grin. They shook hands, both trying to smash the hand of the other.

\-----

A week later found Constance living in the Pollenza Estate with Victor Amadeus, Christine Marie, and Louis Amadeus. Duke Charles Emmanuel was there as well, but she tried her best to stay away from him. He wasn’t in the best of moods when he learned that that Alexis boy had been heavily involved even when he sent him away the first time. On the second day he made it abundantly clear that Constance was unreliable, unqualified and immature. Constance did not take that to heart because she was mainly playing with Louis and did seem immature while playing hide-and-go-seek around the grounds.

As winter set in, the royal family moved inside. The Duke and Prince escaped into their studies, no doubt plotting and planning and trying to circumvent a force that was bringing unrest into their Duchy.

Constance spent her days with young Louis Amadeus. The boy had miraculously bounced back from his harrowing ordeal, his childish innocence blocking out most of the horrors. He would still wake up panting and whimpering from time to time, drawn in by nightmares or dark tunnels and cruel voices, but those instances were becoming fewer and fewer. And whenever he did, his mother and father would gently wake him up, comforting him with soft words and parental love.

Constance tried to help when she could. After quickly collecting her things from her rented room, she left notice with the landlord and gathered Elba from the stables where he was boarding. She met with the Royal caravan before the dawn broke and accompanied them southeast to the Pollenza Estate. The Estate was a modest affair, ancient and resolute. It was modest in comparison to the Palace Madame, but to Constance it was still quite ostentatious. It was the perfect because the Estate was all but forgotten in most of the minds of the populace. It was doubtful anyone would think to try Pollenza over Rivoli or even Moncalieri.

She spent the early morning hours every day practicing with whatever guard or soldier she could find. Her swordsmanship skills improved dramatically over the weeks and months she spent guarding Louis Amadeus. To be fair, guarding was too strong a word to use. The Estate was so well protected that a bird couldn’t fly over it without being shot. The bird, normally an unsuspecting pheasant or duck, would promptly be given to the cook for dinner. That was actually how about a third of the dinners at Pollenza were provided.

The only unfortunate thing that happened occurred on the third day after the party arrived. Constance was called into Christine Marie’s chambers after an early breakfast. To her horror three tailors and the Princess were waiting for her.

“Your Highness,” Constance started to argue.

“No, Alexis, I will not allow it. You are a part of this household now. You have to look the part.”

Further argument would have been futile. Constance had never been called stupid before so she bowed to the Princess’s will and received five new suits for her troubles. Elba also got a new saddle with space to carry the new suits so that was a bonus.

\----

Winter transitioned into spring smoothly, the snow and sleet clearing to reveal rolling grassy knolls, bleached green by the sun’s rays. Louis Amadeus celebrated the new season by wandering about the countryside whenever he was able, meaning whenever Constance would allow him to escape from his lessons. She tried not to do it too often, the Duke and Prince got mad when she did, but once in a sunny afternoon the two ran through the woods on the Estate, discovering new land and claiming it in the name of Savoy. Louis even made a Savoy flag out of an old bed sheet and a large stick. Christine Marie was proud; Victor Amadeus just shook his head.

By March all the whispering behind closed doors had paid off. After questioning the kidnappers for some length, Teo squealed. Oro, the mysterious contact that Constance had heard mention of, was a noble.

The next day Duke Charles and Victor Amadeus left the Estate. Constance assumed they already had some idea of who the noble was that had paid the kidnappers because they left so quickly. Two weeks passed without any contact and then a whole battalion of the Duke’s personal guard came charging down the road to the Estate.

The Duke was in front with Victor Amadeus to his right.

“The crisis has passed,” Duke Charles announced to the household at large, most of whom had gathered when they heard the trumpet blasts. “Only yesterday, it was revealed that the former Count of Urbey paid a group of men to imitate an extremist Spanish group, while he tried to take power by convincing other nobles to rise up. He failed and was arrested last night. He will be tried and executed next week.”

The Duke dismounted, gave the reins of his horse to a waiting stable boy, and strode commandingly into the manor.

Victor Amadeus addressed the household still waiting.

“Thank you all for bearing with us these past months. I know this is not how we normally conduct our affairs, but Louis Amadeus’ safety was of utmost concern. Now that the danger has passed, we will be returning to Turin two days from now. That is all.” With the household staff and soldiers dismissed, he turned his gaze to his wife and son. Christine Marie’s face was shining beautifully, radiant now that her son was safe and her husband was securely back in her presence.

“Welcome back, husband mine.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’re late.”

“Oh why I am late, pray tell?”

“Normally the social season starts at the beginning of March. We have missed the first ball. By now all the courtiers tongues will be salivating in interest.

“Let them gossip. I care not.” He dismissively waved his hand. Constance had been holding back but came forward at the Prince’s pointed glance.

“Bellamy.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she replied smartly.

“Good job.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

That was the extent of their conversation. Constance accompanied the party back to Turin. She attended one ball, looking very out of place, even dressed in the luxurious suit Christine Marie had forced her into.

The trial of the former Count of Urbey had gone as anyone had expected the man was tried, found guilty and executed with extreme prejudice. Even Constance could not be sad when she received news of his death one Thursday morning from Madame Renee. After she had gotten back, she sought out the market gossip to hear the events of the winter.

“Alexis, darling, why do you want to hear about this boring city when you were spending all that time with the Royals? I would give my mother’s secret bread recipe to be able to meet Christine Marie.”

“Humor me, Renee, si vous plait. One can never have too much information.”

“I’d forgotten how paranoid you were. Very well then. The first thing that happened was Tom, two streets over said he saw Parnic and Giena, the couple that runs that two bit soap cart on Via Roma…”

Constance let the chatter rush over her. It was good to be back.

\----

She should have known her interaction with the Duke was not over. As much as the man regarded her as something disgusting stuck on the bottom of his very expensive shoes, he admitted that Constance had contributed to his grandson’s rescue, which was why Constance was called to the Palace Madame a couple weeks after their return to Turin.

“Your Grace,” Constance bowed slightly when the Duke bid her enter into this study. She was becoming very well acquainted with this particular room of the palace.

“Bellamy, wasn’t it?” The Duke did not look up from his desk as he waved the servant who had shown Constance through the palace out. 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.”

She waited in silence for another few minutes while he finished what he was writing. The Duke penned a final sentence, signed his name and sealed the letter with wax and his seal. After setting the letter aside, he fixed Constance with a penetrating stare.

“You seem to like causing trouble, boy. A week in my country and you were up to your elbows in my grandson’s kidnapping. Now you have the ear of my daughter-in-law and my son’s grudging respect. My son’s respect is not easily earned.”

“I am not here to cause trouble, Your Grace.”

He cast a speculative eye over her. “No, I suppose not. You do however find yourself constantly attracted to it. Or maybe it is attracted to you. One can never tell.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, did you call me here to berate me or was there some other purpose? I have things that are needing to be done.”

She was pushing her luck she knew but Duke Charles had always rubbed her the wrong way.

“Watch your cheek, boy.” He snapped at her. She did not respond, not trusting herself to stay silent and ignore her impulse to say something even more insulting to the powerful noble.

“Whether or not you intended to cause trouble, the facts still remain. I think it would be best for my country and my family if you were to leave Savoy as soon as possible.”

“You are banishing me?” She asked in amusement.

“If you care to call it that, then yes. I ask that you leave Savoy within three days, otherwise I will be forced to eject you.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

In truth she had been planning to leave soon anyway. As relaxing as it had been to watch over Louis Amadeus, once the snow melted, she could feel the phantom steps in her feet, carrying her onwards. It was a shame she had to leave this soon, but the roads were clear and the trees were blooming. It would be a year almost to the day from the first time she ran away from home. Now she wasn’t running anymore. She was confident and happy with her life. The Duke was simply fate reminding her of the passage of time and the roads she had yet to take.

“Good.”

She started to bow, thinking that had been a dismissal, when the Duke started talking again.

“One other thing, Bellamy.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“I do not like you. However, I owe you a debt. You found my grandson when no others could. Honor dictates that I must repay that debt any way I can.”

“Your Grace, that’s really not neces-“

“It is necessary. Therefore, take this as a reward for your efforts.” He tossed her a large, heavy bag that jingled. Although she dared not open it in the Duke’s presence, she could tell there was a lot of money in this bag.

Although she wanted to tell the Duke to shove his money where they sun didn’t shine, she knew better than to refuse this reward. After being on the road and having to make that pit stop in Bruges, it would be useful to have this nest egg. She could hide most of the coins in the folds of Elba’s saddle or sewn into the hem of her suits and dress.

So instead she merely thanked Duke Charles, allowed herself to be dismissed, and silently slipped out of the room. As she was escorted back to the main entrance, she was accosted by Victor Amadeus and his wife and son.

Christine Marie took one look at Constance and stated, “You are leaving.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Do you have to leave?” Louis Amadeus asked her with a quivering lip. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“Oh, no, Your Highness. You are wonderful, never let anyone tell you otherwise. No, I’m afraid that higher powers beyond both our controls will me to leave.” She crouched down to his level.

“What higher powers?” He asked suspiciously – or at least as suspiciously as a four year old could.

“The road,” Constance did not want to tell the boy that his grandfather had ordered her banishment. “I am afraid I have pledged my loyalty to the open road, to the unexplored path, and to the journey rather than the destination. She is a wonderful mistress, but she does not like it when I am unfaithful. Thus I will wander until my mistress tires of me or until I find a home so wonderful, with good adventures and true friends, where I finally rest my wandering legs.”

Although what she said to Louis might gone a little over her head, she meant it more for his parents, who would have realized the true higher powers and might have tried to fight for her to stay. Christine Marie would definitely have argued for her before, but now the Princess nodded in understanding. Constance would have left eventually anyway, so it was best not to argue about this.

Victor Amadeus also accepted her decision. “Very well. We wish you safe travels and good fortunes. If you should choose to return, you will always be welcome in my house.” Even if the Duke did not want her back, Victor Amadeus would not turn her away.

“Come, Louis, you have Latin lessons in five minutes,” the Prince led his son away.

Louis Amadeus turned back to Constance for one last hug, which she enthusiastically returned, before following his father down the corridor.

“Walk with me,” Christine Marie ordered.

Constance obeyed and Christine Marie led her down several more main corridors before reaching some more deserted ones.

“We should be able to speak more in private here,” Christine Marie said. “Alexis-“

“Constance,” Constance corrected. “I want you to know my real name. It’s Constance.”

“Constance,” the Princess tested it out on her tongue. “It suits you.” A pause. “Constance, I don’t even know where to begin to try to thank you.”

“If I may, Your Highness,” Constance cut in. “You do not have to thank me, if you can tell me how you knew I was female.” That fact had been bugging her for the entire winter. The whole time at Pollenzo no one had even come close to knowing Constance was a girl. Even Thaddeus and Alderic, with whom she had spent the most time with besides Louis, had not mentioned any feminine qualities.

“You have been dying to know, haven’t you?” Christine Marie asked with a secret smile.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Constance confirmed with an exhausted nod.

“Well, the truth of the matter is that I guessed.”

“Pardon?”

“I did not know for sure, but the way you carried yourself and some of your vocal patterns, especially when dealing with my stubborn father-in-law, were a little off. You got better at it when you started to spend time with those two soldiers. I assume you watched them?”

“Indeed. I confess I was a touch paranoid after you figured me out. No one else had done that during the year that I have been traveling.”

Christine Marie smiled again. “Well, no need now. Though I must say, if you ever decide to be a female again, you would be welcome as one of my ladies. My husband might have a heart attack though. He still firmly thinks you are male.”

“I have been told I am a good seamstress,” Constance admitted.

“Wonderful. So if you ever need a destination, always keep us in mind. However-“ she caught sight of Constance’s face – “perchance not. Your heart belongs to France, does it not?”

“Indeed.”

“That is good, Constance. I too love my country.” Constance sensed there was something more to that line than Christine Marie was stating outright.

“I love my brother as well,” she continued. “For all that he can be an idiot, for all that he relies on Richelieu too much, he has a good heart. Thus, take this,” Christine Marie held out a gold piece. Constance let it drop into her open palm, feeling the indentations and perforations against her skin. “It bears my personal crest. My brother Louis will know this signal. Give it to him if you are ever in need of aid. I will write to him and Anne as well as Captain Treville to let them know of your deeds. Go to any of them in an emergency.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Constance was overwhelmed by the generosity. This token was a rare reward. The piece itself was hung on a strong strap of leather cord so Constance tied around her neck in a careful knot.

“You are quite welcome, Constance.”

Constance bowed her head and placed a kiss upon the Princess’ hand.

“God Bless, Your Highness,” Constance bowed her head.

Christine Marie nodded in return and watched the young girl walk back down the corridor.

“God Bless,” she responded to the empty passageway.


	9. Paris

[February 1630]

A year passed after she left Savoy. Spring turned into summer quickly on the road. Since her first summer had been well spent working day to day for room and board when necessary, Constance chose to do the same thing during the summer of 1629. Her eighteenth birthday saw her entrance into Dauphiné. From Savoy she had travelled west, reaching Lyon two weeks after Duke Charles had banished her.

She set a leisurely pace southwards, skirting the Alps while admiring their snowcapped peaks.

By June of 1629 she had reached the sea. What a wonderful moment that was. She had enjoyed the occasional sea voyage she had taken with her father and it lightened her heart to see the Mediterranean again. It did make her a little melancholy however, so she sent a letter to her sister. She included a small letter to her parents as well, for her sister to decide whether or not they were ready. The letter gave the impression that Constance had spent the last three years acting as a seamstress in a quaint mid-sized village. Michele was a good judge of character, so she would probably give it to their father but maybe not their mother. 

She followed the coast until the edge of France and the mountains that separated France from Spain.

In August she reached Toulouse. It was a bustling city, the heart of the commerce crossing the Pyrenees Mountains. She couldn’t stay for long because the city was besieged with the Black Death a week into her stay. September marked the end of her travels, at least for this year. She found a small Inn and Tavern in a little town called Lupiac a little further west than Toulouse. The poor farming community had not been hit by the plague, its agricultural fields holding little draw for the rat infested ships that originally carried the foul, deadly disease.

She arrived in Lupiac one summer afternoon as the sun was beginning to set. Quickly ascertaining that the Inn was of a fair quality and operated by an older couple, she rented a room for the week. Idle chatter turned meaningful when the wife, Naia, mentioned that the Inn had just lost its normal male helper. They had no children and so normally hired some local village youth, one female to help with the cooking and the cleaning and one male to do general upkeep and manual labor. The village boy they had most recently, had been forced to stop after his father had broken his leg as he was needed to help on the farm.

Constance at once volunteered to take the job until they could find a replacement.

“I won’t be here forever,” she told Naia and her husband Itzal. “But I can help until probably next spring.”

“That is wonderful,” Naia exclaimed. “Thank you, Alexis.”

“Thank you so much, my boy.” Itzal gratefully shook Constance’s hand.  
She had to be extra careful while living at the Inn. There wasn’t much privacy and the quiet country town would be less forgiving of her true gender than Princess Christine.

Time passed. Autumn bled into Winter until it was almost spring. She was starting to itch again as the roads began clearing when she heard some of the patrons talking.

“Charles, are you sure you want to accompany me? It will be very boring for you, since most of this will be politics.”

“Absolutely, Father.”

“Very well. Drink up, my son. We leave for Paris in the morning.”

She turned and saw and father-son pair. Ah, she knew them. The father was occasionally a patron, joining the hardened farmers at a shadowy table as they angrily discussed taxes and harvest sizes. Last she heard every farmer was hit hard by the biting winter and wouldn’t be able to pay the recent taxes. They must be heading to Paris to try to petition King Louis XIII to lower taxes.

She longingly glanced at their table. “You want to go with them?” A kind voice asked, startling her out of her fantasy.

Constance turned and saw Naia. “Pardon?”

The older woman motioned with her head to the two men. “You want to go with them. I can see it  
in your eyes. The wanderlust has set in again.”

“Oui,” Constance admitted.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Quoi?”

“Go with them. Or at least, return to your journey. Jon’s father is healed. Business will be slow for another couple weeks because the season won’t officially start until mid-March. So go and God Bless.”

\-----

Arranging travel options was easy. She approached the two men and outlined her desire to travel with them, at least as far as Vendome. Alexander D’Artagnan and his son, Charles agreed to wait for her the next morning and leave together.

The next morning Constance set off on the next leg of her adventure. She had no desire to go to Paris; it was too close to home and she was still weary of being found and forced to marry. But from Vendome she could go west and explore the Duchy of Brittany. Then she might thread her way along the coast and revisit Saint Michele. She wasn’t tired of travel yet, but the long stay in Savoy and Lupiac had made her see the benefits of putting down roots.

It took the three travelers several weeks to make it as far as Vendome. Constance found she liked both men, though she thought the son Charles was a bit of an idiot. He was hot-headed and brash, but meant well so Constance allowed him time to grow up.

Alexander was the voice of reason. He had worked for the King’s Musketeers so he was competent with a sword. Constance and he spared a couple days into the trip. He and she were well matched. Charles looked on in awe as his father and the petite young man traveling with them went toe to toe. By an unseen agreement, Constance and Alexander stopped fighting at the same time.

“You’re very good,” Alexander complimented her. “Who taught you?”

Constance thought of Fabrice, of the soldiers at practice courts in Savoy, of days and days of self-study during the long summers, of Thaddeus and Alderic, and of Prince Victor’s grudging respect.

“I was originally taught by my sister’s husband but for the past couple years I’ve been learning from whoever would teach me,” Constance tried to sum of the amount of people who had made an impact on her life as she was traveling. It was impossible to truly summarize the importance those years had, had on her.

“Well, you’re very good. I don’t know if I can keep up with your youth,” Alexander shot a grin at his son. “Charles might be able to give you a run for your money.”

That started Constance’s daily spars with Charles d’Artagnan. Before she knew it, they had reached Vendome in the middle of a pounding rain storm. D’Artagnan shouted over the din, “Come on, you’re tired father. We should stop here.”

Constance, who had grown to known the two men and their quirks over the weeks traveling, hid her smile under the veil of water the rain created as it dripped down her hat. Saying something like that would only incite the elder d’Artagnan to do the opposite. Sure enough, Alexander’s reply was a rebuke.

“Paris is only a few hours away.”

“Paris will still be there in the morning,” Constance and d’Artagnan both chimed in.

Alexander shot them a knowing glance. “Look I could ride all night. But if you’re saying you need to rest…” He let the statement stand, nudging his horse towards the Inn.

Constance and d’Artagnan chuckled. She shot him a sly glance. “Race you?”

She didn’t give him time to respond, nudging Elba into an energetic trot. D’Artagnan’s protests died in his throat and he silently cursed before racing to catch up with his companions.

“What took you so long?” Alexander mischievously asked his son. Constance was already dismounted and helping Alexander by holding the reigns of his horse as he himself dismounted.

“I was… that is…” d’Artagnan tried to argue but quickly shut his mouth at Constance’s smirk.  
“Charles and I will get the horses, Alexander, while you take care of the rooms,” she slipped him couple silver coins. “This should cover my room.”

Alexander had learned over the past weeks that his young traveling companion would not take back money, even if it covered the cost of the three of them. Politely worded arguments got him no-where so he just nodded in thanks.

“You cheated,” d’Artagnan complained as soon as his father was out of earshot.

“You’re slow,” she shot back as they lead their horses into the musty stable. Thankfully it was dry, with a single lantern glowing to illuminate the dark interior. 

D’Artagnan knew better than to start down the path of this particular argument. Instead, he changed topics. “So, you’re leaving.”

Constance looked up at his more serious tone of voice. “Yes,” she admitted. “I told you and your father the first day out that I would only go as far as Vendome. After this I’m heading east to the sea.”

“Why?”

“I like to travel,” she said simply.

“Yes, but you seem to be going out of your way to avoid Paris.”

Constance silently cursed d’Artagnan’s sudden flashes of insight. She sighed. “Charles, there are some things in my past that-“ She broke off suddenly as she heard the sound of a pistol clicking behind her. D’Artagnan had already turned around at the sound and now he raised his hands slowly. Constance did the same, eyeing the three men in heavy traveling cloaks pointing pistols at the both of them. One roughly grabbed Charles and another started searching her.

Constance caught d’Artagnan’s eye. She was trying to formulate a plan she could convey with hand signals when the sound of two gunshots spurred d’Artagnan into motion. He lunged for the man searching him, taking hold of the arm holding the pistol. The man pressed the trigger in the confusion and Charles held the arm so the shot hit the other men next to Constance. Constance punched the other man next to her in the nose, nodding in satisfaction when she heard bone crack. She turned to help d’Artagnan, pulling out her pistol. He had disentangled himself from the first man and had drawn his sword.

The remaining two intruders looked from their dead comrade to Constance’s pistol and d’Artagnan’s sword. She could see in their eyes when they decided it wasn’t worth it and left as fast as their feet could carry them. 

D’Artagnan and her chased after them out of the stables. Constance could see now that there were more than just those three intruders. A pack of men on horses rode out of the Inn’s yard; the two men that had attacked her and d’Artagnan scrambled to jump on a pair of riderless horses. D’Artagnan ran after them, his hot-headedness getting the better of him.

Constance on the other hand headed for the Inn. Those two shots had to have come from there and she wanted to make sure no one was injured.

Just inside the entrance to the Inn she saw Alexander coming towards her.

“Alexander,” she started but stopped. The older man’s hand was clutched at his chest and Constance could see the red blood that stained his palm.

“Alexander,” she whispered, rushing to the injured man’s side.

“Charles,” he gasped out, still moving forward into the pounding rain.

“Charles!” Constance cried out. “Charles!” she shouted again, trying to support some of Alexander’s weight

D’Artagnan called to them, “I couldn’t stop them.” He was still staring angrily at the retreating horses.

“Charles!” She finally broke down and screeched at him, her voice climbing to a shrill pitch that a man of her age would not be able to make.

He turned and paled, finally seeing his father gasping at the wound. “Father!”

Constance could feel Alexander collapsing next to her. She tried her best to gently lower him to  
the ground. d’Artagnan rushed to his father’s side.

“He’s been shot,” Constance murmured.

“Father!” D’Artagnan kneeled at Alexander’s side.

Alexander looked at the both of them. “Athos,” he rasped out. “Athos,” he repeated again and Constance could see him fading faster. D’Artagnan still feverishly pawed at his father, hoping against hope that the elder would survive. It was not to be however. Alexander closed his eyes for the last time and his body went limp in d’Artagnan’ arms a few seconds later.

D’Artagnan did not speak for several minutes. When he did his whole body was flush with anger. 

“I am going to find this Athos. He will die by my hand or no other. I swear to this, here and now.”

“So mote it be,” Constance murmured in recognition of the oath. “And I will aid you, wherever your path may take you.” It was the least she could do in remembrance of a good man.

“Thank you, Alexis.”

\-----

Two days later Constance and d’Artagnan set off once more to Paris. Alexander d’Artagnan had been buried in the churchyard at Vendome after a service by the Priest. Constance and d’Artagnan had been the only attendants.

D’Artagnan was itching to go after the man named Athos. The Innkeeper had told them that Athos claimed to be part of the King’s Musketeers. Constance knew that that made the situation more tenuous. At this point d’Artagnan was so desperate for revenge that he was likely to go in guns blazing and get himself killed in the process.

A late season snowfall muffled their horses’ footfalls as they left Vendome. A couple hours later they reached the outskirts of Paris. After boarding their horses, they found a very cheap Inn.

“Forty for the two rooms, twenty if you’re going to share,” the old Innkeeper declared as she climbed the stairs to show them to their rooms. Constance didn’t argue as she handed over the higher sum of money. “This will be your room,” the Innkeeper announced, opening a door for Constance.

Constance entered, noting the d’Artagnan had a room down the hall. She laid her cloak down on the bed.

The Innkeeper left in a huff, announcing something about a communal towel.

Constance crossed the hall to d’Artagnan’s room. “Snarking with the Landlady is not the best way to make a first impression,” she pointed out to the figure sitting on the bed.

“I know, I know,” d’Artagnan muttered.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Find the Musketeer Garrison, locate Athos, then avenge my father.”

“That’s it?”

“What more do I need?”

“The Musketeers aren’t going to allow you to waltz in and kill one of their own.” It was like talking to a brick wall.

“They will if I challenge him to a duel of honor.”

“Yes maybe, but that’s still a pretty big risk.”

“Well it’s the only option I’ve got,” d’Artagnan shot back.

“You don’t have enough information to know if there is another option. Going in without any foreknowledge will not help avenge your father’s death. It will only get you killed,” Constance herself was a big proponent of doing reconnaissance. It was how she saved Louis Amadeus after all. “One day. Let’s wait one day and gather some information. Then if you still want to go and do something stupid, you can.”

D’Artagnan looked mutinous but didn’t argue. Constance counted that as a win.

\----

That night Constance was reminded on why she hated men. Two strangers came in the front door, a portly man and a beautiful woman, while Constance was sitting across from d’Artagnan who was nursing his second drink. The man immediately started barking orders.

“We’ll have your best room and if the bed has fleas you will be whipped,” he threatened the Innkeeper.

“Draw me bath. Make sure the water’s clean. I don’t want to be bathing in someone else’s scum,” the woman ordered as she closed the door.

Before she could stop him, d’Artagnan added to the conversation. “Clean water is extra, Madame. Don’t even ask about the towel.”

“Are you addressing me, sir?” the portly man asked. Constance could tell from his speech that he was Spanish.

“Not unless your name is Madame,” d’Artagnan shot back.

The Spaniard looked about ready to erupt so Constance hurried stepped in. “Forgive my friend, sir, he has had too much to drink. I am sorry for any offense,” she managed to say in passable Spanish. She also subtly kicked d’Artagnan in the leg when he was about to stand up.

All three glanced at her in surprise. The Spaniard recovered first. “Very well,” he rumbled. “But I will not forgive a second offense.” Turning on his heel, he strode up the stairs and out of sight in a huff.

The woman shot Constance a calculating glance and d’Artagnan a smoldering one. Then she followed her partner up the stairs.

“You speak Spanish,” d’Artagnan demanded.

“And you could have gotten yourself killed before you even found Athos,” Constance hissed back at him. “Think next time.”

She dropped a couple coins on the table to cover the cost of the meal. “I’m going to head out early tomorrow. We can meet back up here tomorrow tonight. Try not to get killed or go after Athos before then.”

Retiring to her room, Constance planned out what she was going to do tomorrow. It would be risky to go as a woman tomorrow since d’Artagnan was with her, but she always got the best gossip that way. She’d just have to be extra careful. With her mind made up, Constance turned in for the night, steadily ignoring the sounds of sex coming from d’Artagnan’s room a little while later. It figures that woman would go after him. Hopefully d’Artagnan would listen to her advice and not get himself killed. 

\----

The next morning Constance rose before the sun. She quietly slipped out of her room, taking all her things with her. She returned to the stables where she and d’Artagnan had boarded their horses and grabbed one of the remaining dresses that Christine Marie hadn’t been able to have her maids accidently lose. She also unwound her chest and unbraided her hair. By the time dawn crested over the thatched roofs of Paris she had located the busiest section of market and took a place amongst the stalls, feeling (but not buying) produce, and chatting up with friendly locales.

\----

The day would have gone swimmingly. By the time the 9th bell chimed, she was certain that there was something more going on than a simple rogue band of Musketeers. Athos was a well-known and well-loved figure amongst their numbers, second only to Treville, the Captain of the Musketeers. What’s more is that Odette, from the flower stall on Cherry Way was certain that she saw Athos and his two companions (whom he apparently never went anywhere without) ride out of the city to the north at the same time Constance, d’Artagnan and Alexander had been attacked in Vendome.

She had just finished up a conversation with Oliver from the Butcher’s about the evils of the Cardinals’ Red Guards (this was why she stayed away from Paris, Ye God, the politics), when a commotion from the end of the street caught her attention. She didn’t pay any attention to it until a man grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

Dimly she recognized the voice saying, “Pardon me.”

Before she had time to respond, a pair of lips were pressing themselves against hers.

They separated a moment before Constance was about to stab the stranger in the stomach with a dagger she had hidden up her sleeve. She quickly changed topics, turned 90 degrees and rammed her elbow into the man’s stomach.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She gasped at him, still trying to recover the surprise of the kiss.

“Pardon me, Mademoiselle, I-“ he broke off, gaping at her in recognition. Constance stared back with the same shock as she recognized d’Artagnan.

“Alexis?” he wheezed out.

“Charles?

“You’re a girl?” he breathed.

“Brilliant deduction, genius,” she hissed at him. People were starting to stare so she crossed the distance between the two of them. “What happened to you? Why were those people chasing you?”

“They think I killed that Spaniard from the Inn,” d’Artagnan admitted.

“Why would they think that?”

“Well, I-“ again, d’Artagnan broke off, but not from surprise. Instead his eyes closed and he keeled over. It was only from the fact that she was standing right next to him that she was able to catch him before he hit the ground.

“Just great,” she muttered under her breath, wrapping his right arm around her shoulder and her left arm around his waist. “Men. They’re all idiots.”

\----

A sob story about her injured husband and some helpful Parisians left her and the unconscious d’Artagnan to a different boarding house. This one was more upscale than the previous, which Constance was more than happy to pay for so long as she did not have another run-in with people of the caliber that got d’Artagnan wanted for murder. She had correctly deduced the culprit behind that particular turn of events and got a perverse sort of pleasure from scolding d’Artagnan while she wrapped up his ribs which were sore from the jump out the second story window.

“I can’t believe you kissed me. And I cannot believe you slept with that woman!” She hissed at him.

“I can’t believe you’re a woman! And I never told you I slept with her,” d’Artagnan retorted, wincing at a particularly tightly wrapped bandage.

Constance gave him a look that questioned his intelligence. “I’m a woman because I was born that way. Get used to it because it isn’t going to change.”

“But you didn’t tell me,” he persisted.

“No I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t trust you to begin with and when I did… it didn’t seem important.”

“You didn’t tell me! I thought you trusted me,” d’Artagnan harped.

Constance groaned. “D’Artagnan,” she drew out.

“No! I thought our friendship meant more. Clearly I was wrong,” he stood up shakily, gaining more energy as he pulled away from her and started to put on his shirt and sword belt.

“D’Artagnan, wait!” she called to him as he roughed his way out the door.

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” the door slammed behind him.

She huffed, letting out a long groan. “That idiot! He’s going to get himself killed,” she groused.  
Constance thought about letting him go and face Athos, probably dying in the process. Unfortunately, her conscience got the better of her.

“I hate men,” she muttered under her breath, quickly running to the stables to get her bag. She retrieved it and changed into one of her sets of men’s clothing.

“Damnit, d’Artagnan,” Constance cursed one last time before she submitted to the insanity and exited the room to save the wayward, daft Gascon.


End file.
